


My Guilty Pleasure, I Ain't Going Nowhere

by aimmyarrowshigh, spibsy (lucy_and_ramona)



Series: Never Never Never Stop for Anyone (Sheylinsonverse) [4]
Category: One Direction (Band), Union J (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Dom/sub, Double Penetration, Drunkenness, Eating Disorders, Frottage, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Orgasm Control, Phone Sex, Polyamory, Public Sex, Size Kink, Skype, Threesome - M/M/M, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2013-05-24
Packaged: 2017-12-12 20:04:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 53,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/815489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aimmyarrowshigh/pseuds/aimmyarrowshigh, https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucy_and_ramona/pseuds/spibsy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>George is not James Bond, Louis gets jealous, Union J aren't safe in the competition, Louis gets jealous, and Harry twerks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Guilty Pleasure, I Ain't Going Nowhere

**Author's Note:**

> **Character/Relationships** : Harry/Louis/George Shelley; George/Jaymi, bff!George/Ella, mentions of Jaymi/Olly  
>  **Warnings** : Explicit sexual content (slash [oral sex, penetrative sex, threesome, size!kink, DP, unprotected sex, frottage]) and graphic sexual dialogue. Heavy D/s elements (voice command, orgasm control/denial; no impact play, no breathplay). Use of sex toys (internal/external). _Vague/mild implied past ED_. _Mild dub-con (one party is tipsy/drunk, the other is sober)_. Semi-public sex. Probably terrible Britpicking, but we did try for the most part.  
>  **Disclaimer** : We don't own anything. No claim of knowledge or veracity is made towards anyone in the story and no aspersions or claims of character are to be inferred. We have no connection nor permissions from One Direction, X-Factor, Simon Cowell, SyCo Inc., Sony, ITV, or Columbia Records. No libel intended.

** My Guilty Pleasure, I Ain't Going Nowhere **

"D'you think we'll get to meet Adele?" JJ asks, scrubbing his hair dry with a flannel.

"I really hope so," George swoons, and buries his chin in the basket of his arms dreamily. He's been having a nice week -- he does love Halloween; horror movies and pumpkin lattes and cool weather -- and the boys have been warmer with him than ever, including him in everything they do more and more.

"I'd do Adele," Jaymi muses. George raises an eyebrow, and JJ throws his flannel at Jaymi's face, but Jaymi just laughs. "I would! She's that beautiful and that talented, I really would. She's on my Five."

"Is that like, a greedier version of a Guilt Free Three?" asks George, leaning forward curiously. "Let's have the others, then."

"Zayn Malik," Jaymi says pointedly, and George rolls his eyes even though he hasn't met the other One Direction lads any more often than Jaymi has. "And Simon Cowell."

"Simon Cowell is not on your list!" JJ gasps, grabbing his flannel from Jaymi just to hit him with it again. "And it certainly wouldn't be guilt-free, would it? Think of his poor PR people who'd have to deal with the scandal."

"Think of _us_ , having to deal with you going on about it," Josh adds from the other side of the room. "The less I have to hear about Simon Cowell's bits, the better."

"What if he was our mentor?" George asks. "Not -- for Jaymi. Just in general."

Josh muses over that for a moment. "Not sure," he finally says. "He'd probably know what he was doing better than Louis, but I'm a bit scared he'd just try to make us come off even more like One Direction. No offense," he adds.

George rumples his hair self-consciously. "I can't help how it grows out of my head."

"Maybe you could ask for it straight next time we get it done?" Jaymi suggests. "I know you're not trying to come off like him but it does seem a bit like it when they do it all curly."

"I should just get a quiff like everyone else," George sighs. He tries holding his fringe up over his head and looking in the reflection of the TV's monitor. "We're Union J, we should have unified hair."

"I don't know if mine counts as a quiff," Jaymi says as he nudges George to the side to look at his own hair. "It's a bit droopy, isn't it? I like your hair the way it is, anyway."

George smiles and nudges the side of his head into Jaymi's arm, asking for petting. Jaymi obliges and gives George's hair a good scratching, and George sighs happily.

"I think you should be a cat for Halloween; you're enough like one. You'd hardly need a costume." Jaymi scritches his fingertips behind George's ears. "You could wear your onesie and be a monkeycat or something."

"A JCat," JJ suggests.

"Nah, then he'd have to ask himself to marry him," Josh disagrees, fiddling with his hair.

"Well, we can't all be you," George demurs. Things are better between he and Josh, but they may just never be real friends.

The hotel phone rings, and Jaymi reaches across George's prone body to answer. "Hullo?" He covers the mouthpiece. "Georgie, there's a package for you at reception."

"Is there?" George asks, perking up. The last time that had happened, it was the shirt from Louis, but the time before that it had been some girl trying to sneak George a box of her own hair. He really hadn't anticipated that level of crazy quite so early in their career. "Alright, I'll go down and get it. Anyone want to come with me?"

"I have to do my hair," Josh and Jaymi say in one voice, and both laugh.

"Yeah, Jaymi's gotta primp for his great seduction of Adele," JJ jibes. "I'll come along if you can wait for me to get some trousers."

"Yeah, of course; I don't think it's an urgent delivery." George doesn't move from his spot, splayed on the bed. "And I'm comfortable, anyway. And if it's more hair, I'd like to put that off as long as possible."

"Could be worse, could be in a cake like Ed Sheeran." JJ's voice is muffled in the t-shirt he's currently attempting to put on armhole-over-head. Jaymi straightens him out and thwaps JJ on the bum on his way to the bathroom to start on his hairdo.

George shudders. "God, I hope not. Can you imagine being so famous people try to feed you parts of them? When I tried out, I was pretty much just hoping I'd get sex out of it, not, like, nightmares."

"Then you've succeeded," Josh points out. "When I tried out, I wanted to win the X Factor."

"That too," George agrees, trying not to get his hackles up. Maybe Josh isn't trying to sound like an uppity little prick. Probably. "Couldn't really see someone like me winning on my own. Winning the whole thing just seemed so far off when I was in that crowd of people in line."

Josh pauses, wheels turning in his head, and then sighs and nods. "Right. Sorry."

"It's alright," George mutters. "JJ, are you ready?"

"Just about," JJ replies as he shimmies his jeans the rest of the way up his hips. "If it is hair, though, I'm using the box to throw up in. That last one was horrifying."

"Right, well, you'll have to wait your turn." George pats his pockets to make sure that he has the room keys, and then he and JJ are padding down the hallway, knocking their knuckles along the wall for a beat as they practice a two-part harmony.

"I think it's getting better," says George hopefully. "Or is that just wishful thinking? I swear it's better than it was yesterday, even."

"It's all down to whether I can get my breath out onstage," JJ says glumly. "I don't know why it freezes me up so badly."

George gives JJ's back a quick rub. "I still think it's just your nerves getting the best of you," he says sympathetically. "You get yourself so worked up before we go on."

"I've gone out in front of the Queen; Gary Barlow shouldn't scare me more, should he?"

"Gary Barlow's scarier, I think. He actually gets paid to tell us we're shit even if we're not, so it's a little more intimidating." George swallows nervously. "I'd say to imagine him in just his pants but I doubt that'd help."

"No, then I'd just wonder if he's on Jaymi's _list_." JJ sounds -- and looks -- so perturbed, his mouth and eyebrows somehow all squished into the center of his face like it's running away from the thought, and George is almost crying with laughter by the time they get to the reception desk for his package.

He's still giggling when he asks the lady there about his package. "I don't think he is," he says as she looks for it. "Although, he doesn't really seem to have a type, does he? From Zayn Malik to Simon Cowell."

"They've both got swagger," JJ offers. "Maybe he just likes swagger and strong eyebrows."

"Maybe Cher Lloyd's on his list, then," George manages through renewed laughter, only barely managing to remember his manners to thank the woman when she hands a plain brown box to him.

"I don't think even Jaymi wants to jag her swagger." JJ has to open the door because George is sagged against the baseboards laughing by this point, and he ruffles George's hair before crossing through the adjoining door to the room he shares with Josh, leaving George and Jaymi alone with their 007 suits and loads of hair wax.

"What're you laughing about?" Jaymi asks him suspiciously. "Do I want to know? Am I going to be traumatized? Some of your fangirls are seriously weird. If anyone's sent you cake with your face on, I want some, though."

"I don't know, I haven't opened it yet." George snorts and wipes his eyes before throwing himself down on the bed to make Jaymi bounce nearly clear off the end. "Let's have a look."

"Should I bring out a crucifix just in case?" Jaymi asks, but he curls close to George despite his words. "I hope it's not a box of spiders."

George's hands pause on the tapes. "Why _spiders_?"

"It was the worst thing I could think of," Jaymi admits. "But the longer you wait to open it the more awful things I'm thinking of, so _open it_."

George peels back the tape at the sides and they both hold their breath as he slides out a simple, shiny-enameled black box.

"Probably not spiders, then," Jaymi murmurs, his brow wrinkling. "Could still be a severed finger. A really fancy one, though. A sophisticated severed finger. Oh god, please open it."

"It could be a really rare spider," George offers. "Like one of those ones they're milking in the US military to make bullet-proof cloth? Don't look at me like that, it's a thing; I saw it on the internet."

"Yeah, because you're always looking up weird shit on the internet," Jaymi huffs. "I'm just saying, if anything with legs comes out of there, I'm running for the door and you're on your own, love."

"Thanks for all your support," George mumbles, and breaks the gold seal on the box with his thumbnail.

Jaymi releases a relieved breath when nothing comes scurrying out. "Is there a note, or anything? Did it have a name on the box?" he asks curiously, picking up the discarded brown packaging.

"No, nothing," George says. "Hang on." 

He flips the box over and there, taped to the bottom, is a scrap of torn Post-It bearing Louis' chickenscratch handwriting:

_Wear this !_

George's brow furrows and he looks at Jaymi, who shrugs. "Maybe cufflinks or something?"

"Can't be anything too big, the box wouldn't fit it." Jaymi frowns. "That's... Louis, or Harry? The handwriting looks the same as when you got that shirt from them."

"Louis, then," George says. "Maybe it's very, very small shoes."

"Maybe he meant it for JJ, then," Jaymi jokes, leaning a little closer to try to peer into the box. "Let's have it, then. Not spiders at all, probably."

"You don't know Louis," George hedges, smirking. He opens the box and reaches in to slide out -- something. He frowns, unsure of exactly what he's looking at. It's a slim curved _thing_ that feels like it's made out of soft rubber and is shaped sort of like a wonky submarine scope or something. 

"Alright, I give up," he announces, holding up the thing -- which is bright purple, of course -- so that Jaymi can see it.

Jaymi snorts and looks from the thing to George's confused face before he _awwws_. He pets George's hair. "Aw, bless you, little Georgie."

George wrinkles his nose. "What? Is it like a weird rabbit's foot or something? Like, for luck?" He squints at it, rubbing his fingertips against the bit of it that looks sort of like a handle. "Stop laughing at me!"

Jaymi presses his knuckles to his teeth. "You're honestly so sweet, I don't even want to tell you what it is because you're perfect how you are. This is the best thing I've ever seen."

"It's too big to keep in my pocket or anything, I think." George glares at Jaymi when he releases another snort of laughter. "Just tell me what it is! Is it something really obvious, and I'm going to feel stupid?"

Jaymi wipes at his chin where he's drooling a little, his eyes sparkling with mirth. "Maybe. Just take a little think on it, and guess."

George sighs and looks back to the thing in his hand. Maybe the fact that it's so damn purple is throwing him off. He tries to think objectively, tracing a finger down the side, and then fitting the top of it into the palm of his hand. It fits snugly, and the material of it is smooth and cool against his skin.

He holds it by the maybe-handle-part and then pauses, looking down at his hands. "Jaymi," he says slowly. "Is this like a sex-type thing?"

"Yes, George," Jaymi says indulgently. "It is a sex-type thing."

"And I -- wear it?"

"You do wear it." Jaymi grabs the message from Louis and reads it again, not that there's much to read. "Tonight, I'd assume."

"Jaymi," George says again, more urgently. "By 'wear this,' does he mean he wants me to like, put it in my arse? Am I holding a thing that goes in my arse?"

Jaymi nods, and George drops the plug onto the bedspread like he's been burnt.

"It's a really nice one!" Jaymi nearly cackles, his arms wrapped around his stomach as he almost falls off of the bed. "I can tell he put a lot of thought into it!"

"And I'm supposed to what, just walk around on _red carpet_ with _fucking Adele_ and act like there isn't a purple periscope up my bum?"

George is shrieking a little and he suspects that JJ and Josh, at the least, can hear him through the walls.

"Once it's in, you'll hardly feel it!" Jaymi assures him, though he's still laughing and George doesn't trust him a bit. "Except when you move, or if you jump up and down. Or if you breathe weird."

"Or sit for a _two and a half hour movie_?" George's eyes are round as sauciers. "What if it like, what if I come in my trousers? These are _rented_ trousers!"

"You won't come in your trousers, I don't think. Not enough stimulation. And you'll be wearing dark colors, anyway." Jaymi is practically wheezing. "I've decided I like him. I think -- I think Louis Tomlinson is my hero."

George grumps and hides his face in his arms. "Two days ago, you nearly punched him in the mouth and now he's your hero? For doing the _same thing_ , just... bossing me around, in terms of... arse-things?"

"It's not the same thing at all," Jaymi argues. "Before he was just leaving you alone when you were most vulnerable and expecting you to deal with it. This way, you'll have people with you who know what's going on, and I can tell you really want to do it, anyway."

George peeks out at Jaymi over his elbow. "And how can you tell that?"

"You've gone all red," Jaymi points out. "And you keep biting your lip." He pauses. "And the way you're sitting."

George immediately shifts and crosses his legs. "I'm sitting totally normal. As I will remain, all night."

"Of course," Jaymi agrees. "Except you'll have that inside you the whole time."

That makes George sit up a little straighter unconsciously, every muscle clenching with anxious, eager tension.

"You should see the look on your face, you're so excited." Jaymi pats George's knee. "You're adorable."

George sucks on his bottom lip. It's still a little red and swollen from being bitten so hard over the weekend, but he likes it -- like the bruises he's still speckled with under his clothes, it's a nice reminder. A good ache. "How -- how... how?"

Jaymi hums, giving the -- what George now knows is a fucking _buttplug_ \-- a good look. "It's not so big. Shouldn't be too difficult."

George finally picks up the plug again and considers it. "Won't people be able to... see?"

"No, the way this one's made, this bit -- " Jaymi grabs the part George thought was a handle, " -- fits right between your cheeks. He really did pick it well." He's starting to laugh again.

George goes pink. "Stop laughing at me! Or are you laughing at Louis?"

"I'm laughing at the both of you!" Jaymi exclaims. "It's the cutest thing; you're all flustered and he took so much time picking out the perfect plug for you. It's almost romantic."

George lifts the collar of his t-shirt and hides his face under it so that only his mop of hair pokes out the top. "I hate you."

"I'm totally your favorite. Other than Louis and Harry." Jaymi ruffles George's hair. "If it weren't for me, you'd have nothing to put up your bum later. Think about that."

"How on _Earth_ is that true? I'm the one who picked them up in the first place and brought them back here," George protests, then wonders why the fuck he's arguing this point when really, he doesn't -- it's not a _thing_ he needs to argue.

Jaymi buries laughter in his hands again. "I was talking about your complete ignorance of buttplugs, not -- not _them_ ," he sputters.

George turtles himself further into his t-shirt. "Oh." He coughs. "Right."

"You're so cute it's unfair," Jaymi sighs, pinching George's leg. "Give the rest of us a chance, mate. You're taking all the fangirls by storm."

"That's just 'cause they think Harry birthed me out of his bum somehow in like 100 years and I got a TARDIS and came back in time like River Song, only I'm not made of yogurt." He finally extricates himself from his t-shirt because it's getting a little stuffy and hard to breathe.

"I don't get your geeky Sci-Fi references," Jaymi reminds him, collecting the remnants of the package and tossing them into the bin between their beds. "You're going to wear it, though, right?"

George bites his lip. "I think so. I mean, he wants me to, right?"

"You can still say no. I was just joking earlier." Jaymi frowns a little. "If you don't want to, you don't have to. Tell him to piss off and put it up his own bum."

George snorts. "I don't think that would bother him in the slightest. I mean, I -- if he wants me to, I want to, I just don't want to humiliate myself?"

"I really will look out for you, if you want?" Jaymi offers, setting a hand on George's shoulder. "If it starts to feel like too much, we can beg off for a bit so you can sort yourself out in the loo."

George chews on the inside of his cheek and debates whether it's better or worse that Jaymi will be watching, but then nods. "Alright. Erm, so I'm just gonna -- nip off and erm..."

"Oh, yeah, alright. D'you want me to...?" Jaymi jerks his thumb toward the door adjoining their room to JJ- and Josh's. "Give you a bit of space?"

George licks his lip. "Yeah, alright. Only if you don't mind."

"Of course not!" Jaymi pats his shoulder once before swinging his legs off the bed. "You can just come get me when you're done, if you want."

"Er, okay." George isn't actually all that keen on alerting everyone to the fact that he's just finished having a wank and there's now purple plastic shoved up his arse, but if not embarrassing himself at the premiere of Britain's biggest film since Harry Potter is the trade-off, he'll take it.

Jaymi tosses him a sloppy salute and then makes his way across the room. He hesitates at the door. "I'm not going to, like, tell them or anything. If you were worried?"

George only realizes how tense his shoulders had been when they relax and he takes a deep breath. "Thanks."

JJ he doesn't mind, but Josh... well, his stories from sixth form remind George too fiercely of being on the other end of George's own school experience, and although everyone's grown up and everyone's ostensibly moved on, he doesn't really like to give bullies ammunition.

"No problem." Jaymi gives him another smile and then slips through the door, letting it close with a gentle click behind him.

George sighs. So. He has ninety minutes before they're due for the hair team to come curl his hair into a Harry Styles 'do, and they're expected to be fully suited up and ready to film a diary and video package for the show. And then walk the red carpet with England's biggest celebrities. And sit through a movie. And probably a party after.

And now he's going to do all of it with this thing up inside him. To be honest, he's not sure if he can do it. It's Louis who wants him to, though, so he's going to. He knows he's going to.

He can even see the logic behind the gift, really -- George likes bruises because they're reminders, hidden things that mark him as belonging to Harry and Louis that no one else can see but George can feel. This is just an extension of the same.

The plug isn't so very big, really, only a bit intimidating when George knows where he's about to put it. It's still big enough that he knows he'll need lube, so he sighs and gets off the bed to plod over to his bag.

The problem is, he knows that he's too amped up to relax unless he goes all out, but stripping off for a full-on wank in the middle of the afternoon while his bandmates are one thin adjoining door away just feels silly. George takes his trousers off anyway, and is sitting on the edge of the bed in his pants and t-shirt, turning the plug over and over between his fingers, when his mobile rings through with a text.

_did it cum thru ??? haaa, puns !_

George rolls his eyes. _Yeah Louis I got it X_

 _send us a pic then there 's a good lad....._ Louis writes back moments later, and George flushes red.

 _It's not in yet_ , he admits. _i Feel silly_

There's a bit before Louis replies where George wonders if he's speaking with Harry, or frowning at George's reticence. 

_why silly? never had 1 in be4?_ is the reply when it comes a minute later.

George blushes a little as he writes back. _I mightve had to ask Jaymi what it was? xx_

This time the response is almost immediate. _ur srs? do u have skype? we can walk u thru it. x_

George shakes his head, then realizes they can't see him. _It's not exactly hard to figure out is it?_

Again, he barely has to wait for his phone to buzz with another text. _we want to watch u._

George's heart picks up its pace. _turn About is fair play I guess X_

It feels like ages until he gets the next message, but that might be because his head is suddenly filling with thoughts of them watching him get himself off while he shoves this thing up his arse. Finally, though, his phone buzzes with a message that contains a string of letters which he assumes is the username that belongs to one of them.

He takes three breaths, slow and measured, before he thumbs back two letters: _OK_.

His computer is on the table beside his bed, so all he has to do is lean over and grab it. It takes a while to boot up and he uses the time wisely, of course, to freak out about what he's just agreed to do.

George is a little ashamed that his first worry is that there will be other people there when he turns on the video, and this is all an elaborate joke concocted so that Harry and Louis can get all of One Direction to laugh at him. He knows, logically, that they wouldn't do that, but it's left over from years of people thinking that humiliating him is the most fun game in the world.

Of course, when Skype bubbles on, it's just Harry and Louis sat there, smiling encouragingly at him. Harry is only wearing pants, of course, because apparently he really likes being naked as much as he always says -- or else Louis really likes Harry to be naked -- but Louis, like George, has on a t-shirt, too. Harry is lounging between Louis' legs, leaned back against his chest, while Louis holds him in a way that's at once protective and salacious. 

"Hi!" Harry chirps at George, waving.

"Hello," George greets, double checking to make sure that the door connecting the rooms is fully closed. "Er. How are you?"

"Glad to be home," Harry reports. "I couldn't properly congratulate Louis on his football while we were staying at his mum's house."

George has texted Louis about it already, but it never hurts to tell people when you're proud of them, he doesn't think. Even if you don't really have a right to be. "You did fantastic. And you look really good in shorts, which is another amazing thing."

Louis laughs, and Harry beams as he grips Louis' thigh and rubs it affectionately. "Thanks, love. It was fun."

"You did look quite nice, though," says Harry, leaning his head back to grin at Louis. "In your little shorts."

"Shut up, you," Louis murmurs, nuzzling into Harry's hair, and George wishes he were there.

Louis kisses Harry's neck and then looks at George expectantly. "You have it with you, right?"

George nods and holds it up so they can see. "Yeah, I -- thanks."

"You're welcome." Louis looks very amused. "A bit of a gift for both of us, if you will."

"We have one too," Harry volunteers. "It's not purple, though. I want a purple one."

"Er, good, Harry." George has a nervous giggle and is beginning to despise it a little. "You've made Christmas shopping much easier."

"Always a pleasure." Harry grins at him. "Then we can have one for home and one for travel."

"Anyway," Louis cuts in. He settles his chin on Harry's shoulder. "If you don't have lube, get some. Or lotion, or whatever."

"I have lube," George says. He fishes it out of the bedside table drawer and waves it at the camera with a little grin. "Ta-da!"

Louis looks pleased. "Good. Sometimes lotion can react weird with the silicone. Always better to have the real stuff." He pauses. "You _are_ alone, right?"

"Yeah, I am," George laughs, "Unlike you two."

"We're alone!" Harry protests, making a show of spreading his arms out, to show... something, George isn't sure what. "It's just us here."

"Yeah, but," George's voice lowers, softens, "You're together there, and I'm all alone-alone here."

Harry makes a sympathetic little _oh_ sound, and it just makes George feel even more stupid than he already did. He clears his throat. "Er, how should I do this?"

"You know we'd love for you to be here, instead, don't you?" Louis asks instead of answering his question. "Who cares about going to a premiere when you could be eating leftover carbonara and watching awful nighttime television with us?"

George has to grin at that, and knows that his cheeks are dimpling up almost as much as Harry's. "Yeah, yeah, old hat for you, but I'm rather nervous. A little more now I know people might see the friendly purple dinosaur peeking out of my trousers."

Louis frowns a little. "How nervous? If you're uncomfortable with it, you don't have to. Remember what we talked about? Is this good-nervous or bad-nervous?"

George hums thoughtfully. "Neutral nervous? I mean, I'm not excited but I'm not dreading it either. I'm willing to try. Is that a 'yellow'?"

"That's a yellow," Louis says thoughtfully. "How about, you see how it feels, and if you don't want to once it's in, you can take it out? I'm not going to make you do anything I don't think you can handle."

George smiles at Louis through the lens of the camera and leans forward a little. "I know."

Louis' face softens and he smiles back. "I'm glad you know," he says quietly. "Now how about you take your clothes off for me, babe?"

George bites his lip a moment, then locks eyes with Louis through the camera and pulls his shirt over his head. It does feel better, with them watching. He lets his palms run over his chest and belly on their way to the waistband of his pants, and keeps his gaze locked with the pair of them as he eases them down over his thighs and knees.

"Good," murmurs Louis, his eyes lowered a little. "I like looking at you. You're so lovely to look at, George."

George looks at Louis from beneath his eyelashes. "Thank you. What should I do now?"

"I want to still be able to see your face," says Louis, giving George an appraising look. "But I need to see the rest of you, too. Can you move up near your headboard, and put a pillow underneath your hips?"

George nods, still toying at his bottom lip with the sharp tips of his teeth and the soft of his other lip, still watching Louis and Harry intently on the screen. As Louis' been speaking, instructing him softly, he's slipped his hands down into the front of Harry's pants and George can see them moving, even if he can't see Harry's skin.

He does as Louis says, adjusting the computer once he's situated with one pillow underneath him and another behind his back. It's not the most comfortable he's ever been, but he thinks he can manage it for a little while. "Is this alright?" he asks.

Louis nods slowly, and George can see Harry's shoulders sagging against Louis now as the movement of Louis' wrists and hidden hands takes on a slow, rhythmic roll, tugging lazily at Harry's cock. "Really good, George. You look so good like that, all spread out on the bed. Might be my new favorite thing."

George shivers. Alright, apparently this is doing it for him. He hasn't even started touching himself yet and he's already half-hard, and starting to feel warmer than the temperature of the room would really call for.

"Thank you," he says softly, unsure of how loud he really wants to talk. The walls aren't thick at all.

"Have you ever done this in front of anyone, George?" Louis asks him, his voice lowered like George's is. "Touched yourself?"

"Erm, other than you, and like, people in the room about to fuck me, no," George offers, shifting a little on the mattress.

"Shame. Sometimes I have Harry do this in front of me, and I don't touch him at all, even when he's begging me to." Louis sounds proud. "I want you to do what I tell you to do, alright?"

George nods. "Yeah, please. Please, yeah." He giggles again. "I'm a broken record I guess."

"You're gorgeous, is what you are. I want you to touch yourself now, but not your cock, just your chest, for now. Do that for me." Louis is still touching Harry, but his pace has slowed, and his voice has this smoky quality to it that George really likes.

George listens, watching on the screen as Harry mirrors whatever he does, and he understands suddenly -- Harry isn't allowed to get off until George does, and George _really_ wants to let Harry get what he wants. He lets his eyes flutter shut for just a moment as he remembers how responsive Harry's nipples are, the way he goes to pieces at a little touch, and George touches his own nipples with the pads of his thumbs even though it does less for him because he wants to hear Harry. He wants Harry to get this.

There's no noise in the room but his own breathing, which makes it easy to hear Harry's sharp gasp. It's a good sound, a great sound, actually. George really hopes he gets to hear it again before this is over. He pinches one of his nipples between his fingers lightly, and with his other hand, he presses down on a bruise he has between two of his ribs.

"Have you been enjoying those?" Louis murmurs then. "The lovebites?"

"Yes," George replies, finding another one up near his collarbone. That one's faded a bit more, though, so it doesn't feel as good when he prods at it. "I love them. I like to touch them when I feel -- " _lonely, left out, abandoned_ " -- like I need to."

"We'll have to give you some more this weekend, then," Louis says gently, like he understands what George means. It's a quiet reassurance that the weekend is coming and George will spend the nights in their bed again. It makes George moan softly, prick finally fattening up hard between his legs.

"I'd like that," George says after a moment of trying to pull himself together, fingers searching out another bruise low on his stomach. This one is still dark, one of his favorites. "Please? I want more."

"Okay," Louis promises. There's a hint of silence and then -- "Can you open your eyes, please?"

George had forgotten they were closed, but he can open them for Louis. The harsh light is a little surprising and he has to blink a few times to focus on the computer screen again.

Louis' pulled Harry's cock out of his pants now and is working it with both hands, still slow. Harry's face is turned up to mouth at the sharp curve of Louis' jaw, and George _wants_. 

"I want to suck Harry off," he whimpers. "I've never been able to yet and I want it so badly. I want to try to take it all."

"He's so big, though." Louis is teasing and George is pretty sure he's teasing both of them. "Do you think you could? You've got such a pretty mouth; I'd like to see you try."

George nods, swallowing and arching his back, wishing Louis would give him permission to touch his prick already because he's so, so ready to go. "If I can't get it, I want to choke on it," he mumbles. "Just want it in my mouth."

"God, you're amazing," Louis sighs. Harry makes a choked noise and George wonders what Louis just did. "You want to get your hand on your dick so badly, don't you?"

George nods frantically, eyes pleading. "Yes, yeah."

"And how much are you dying to have something inside you right now?" Louis continues instead of giving him permission. "How much do you want that?"

George just shifts his legs open in response, works his hips just enough that the wet head of his cock can brush against his belly to get a little taste.

"No, no, no," Louis croons, "None of that, tricky boy. You have to wait."

George whines. It's not fair, Louis is touching Harry but George isn't there so nobody can touch him. "I want," he moans, desperate. "Please, let me?"

"Why don't you get some lube on your fingers and start opening yourself up?" Louis suggests, and his voice is rough silk.

"Okay," George agrees, because that sounds lovely even if it's only going to be his own fingers and he can never get the right angle when he tries it himself. He flings one hand over to grab the tube he dropped earlier and squeezes out more than he probably needs in his haste.

It's enough to get his fingers all slick, though, which is what he wants. He hesitates before he lowers his hand, though. "Can I -- Can I touch my cock, yet?"

"No." Louis' voice is all rough now, no silk at all, and when George looks to the screen, it's because Harry's turned over onto his back, legs crooked around Louis so he can get fingers into him. "After you get your new toy into yourself, then you can come. Alright?"

George inhales so hard he nearly coughs. He'd forgotten about the plug, now lying innocently on the bed next to him, just within reach. "Okay," he says in a voice that wobbles. He reaches under his thigh and tentatively touches one slippery finger to his hole.

"That's it," Louis encourages. "Open a little wider so we can see."

George parts his legs more, flushing when he thinks about what they can see, and what he's doing for them. It seems an odd thing to be shy about when he considers all the other things he's done in front of these two.

He very slowly presses one finger inside, wanting to ride down impatiently against it but knowing it'll be better if he makes himself wait.

"Wait," Harry croaks, and it's the first George has heard his voice since waving hello. "It's better if you -- around your leg? Not over the front?"

"Oh." George blushes and can feel the heat of it all down his neck, because he'll be even more exposed like that, but if Harry says it's better, he'll listen.

He adjusts his positioning to slip his hand around instead of over, and starts again, slow and steady, one finger, letting himself breathe through it. Oh, Harry's beyond right, he can get a much better angle on it like this.

He can't help the broken, low moan that he breathes on an _ooh_ , and Louis smiles on the laptop's screen.

"Is that better, then?" he asks. "Are you pretending it's me?"

"I am," George sighs, but it's not enough. He wants real Louis, with his fingers and his mouth and his cock. "I want you."

"I'm right here, love," Louis reminds him. "I still have you. You can relax into it; we've got you."

George lets himself add another finger, enough for a bit of a burn when he curls them both deep, but he likes that. It's easier to pretend it's Louis if it's a little overwhelming. "I want you to touch me."

Louis gives him a small noise of appreciation. "That's why we bought you that gift. You can think of that as... us, when we can't be there. But tell us whenever you use it."

"I will." When he thinks about it like that, he wants to wear the plug all the time. He wants to wear it on live shows and results shows and at all the premieres he ever gets to go to just to feel like they're there with him. "I will, I'll wear it to think of you."

"Good," Louis murmurs. "That's really good, George. I like that a lot."

George twists a third finger into himself, hard and fast, wringing out choked gasps as his cock burbles a warning spurt of precome onto his belly. "Louis -- I _need_ , now, _please_ \-- "

"Put your plug inside, George," Louis tells him. "It's right next to you, use it."

"Lube -- first," Harry adds quickly. George flushes with nerves again, though, as he slides his fingers out of himself and takes the toy into trembling hands and smears it with a thick slick of lube.

"Come on, love, we're here with you," Louis says to him quietly. "Think about me helping you, tucking it up into you. It's going to feel so good."

George sucks his breath in through his teeth and nods a little, but still pauses, looking to the screen just -- to make sure they're really there with him. Louis isn't looking at him now, but Harry is, his eyes huge and black as he stares at George, all the while Louis easing a black plug that otherwise matches George's into Harry, rocking gently at the base with the heel of his hand.

" _Oh_." George feels a little punched in the gut, breathless, watching.

"Tell him how much you love it, Harry," Louis instructs, his voice smooth and low. "Tell George about how good it feels."

It takes a moment for Harry to speak, his mouth working slowly twice before the words find their way out. "'S'really nice, George, like... Louis all the time. 'S'smaller than you, though. Sad."

"Don't want to spoil you," Louis says, but he's smiling and George can hear it in his voice. "He loves it so much, George. And you're going to love yours so much, too, wearing it for us. Like we’re always fucking you."

George has to press the tip of the plug to his hole; he has to know if it feels as good as Harry says it does. It sounds like everything he's ever wanted, all at once.

He's tense, though, and even with the lube it's a little difficult -- when George watches Harry, though, watches the way Harry's body is taking in his own toy and how relaxed and happy Harry looks with his eyebrows pinched and his cock wet enough that George can see the shine on the monitor, it's easier. He wants to feel what Harry is feeling.

The toy isn't as thick as Harry, or as long, but it still makes him feel full, and that's what George wants. It's slow going to get it in all the way, but Louis' encouraging noises and Harry's quiet sounds of pleasure are all he needs to spur himself on.

Once he's past the fat knob at the head, it's easier to slip the rest of the curved shaft in, and George can tell that it really won't be visible when he's got trousers on, sitting almost comfortably in the cleft of his arse. It isn't as scary as he'd made out in his head, even if it's a little strange to be just _full_ without really being _fucked_.

"How does it feel, George?" asks Louis. He sounds a little breathless, himself. "Do you like it?"

George considers, watching Harry's labored, intent breathing on the screen, the way his hips twitched down against the mattress, rutting against nothing. "It's alright, yeah."

"Do you think you can wear it at your premiere?" Louis is rubbing Harry's belly, slow and soothing. "Will it be too much?"

George gives an experimental little stretch, just to see, and _oh, there_ it is, _that's_ what Harry's on about, mewling little desperate moans and trying to work his cock against Louis' wrist in vain.

"Tell me, George, how badly do you need to touch yourself right now?" Louis sounds amused again, and vaguely disinterested if it weren't for the way his eyes are hungrily tracking George's movements.

"It'd be nice, yeah?" George squeaks, and rolls his hips down into the mattress, bracing his heels, getting used to the feeling and how alien but amazing it was to feel like he was getting fucked without a body to work up against, work with.

"And how about you, you little minx?" Louis asks Harry, his thumb pressing against the base of the plug. "Why don't you tell George how eager you are?"

"Please?" Harry begs immediately, and he rocks down against the pressure of Louis' hand. "George I wanna see it -- you -- but... I really need to come, jesus _fuck_ feels like I might explode."

"Good," murmurs Louis, a smile curling his lips. "Good boys. George, you may touch your cock now," he adds as he slips his hand down to wrap around Harry.

Getting a hand on himself has never been such a relief.

He keeps one hand on the base of the plug and smoothly strokes himself with the other, the only sounds in his ears Harry's desperate moans and Louis, not really saying words but humming, and the slick sounds of his hand on Harry's cock. 

"That's really nice, George," Louis murmurs then, and when George blinks and focused back on the screen again, Louis is watching him intently as he drags his fingers through a mess of come on Harry's stomach and lifts them to his lips, licking them clean with a satisfied _mm_. "That's just exactly right."

George doesn't think he manages to keep quiet as he wrings his own orgasm out of himself, but he nearly bites through his lip trying. The sight of Louis is just too much, his face so smug and smirky as he sucks on the tips of his fingers. George didn't even really have a chance.

There are a few minutes of near silence, just the sound of his own huffing breath as he tries to calm himself while the plug is still there, still pressing into him at just the right angle that the sensation can't _really_ dull, and the quiet rustling and murmuring of Louis and Harry unseen on the screen.

"I'll just keep it in, shall I?" he finally croaks, his heart still beating fast. The plug keeps rubbing against him in a way that makes him not-quite-jump.

"Yes," Louis agrees. "And you're going to walk the red carpet, and do your interviews, and greet your adoring fans, all with that pretty toy all snuck up inside you where you can feel it, hmm?"

George nearly shudders. "Yeah," he manages, shifting his legs closed as well as he can. The change in position has him gasping as the plug moves inside him. "Oh, wow, I -- Oh, my god."

"Still okay?" Louis confirms, and when George glances at the screen this time, almost all of Louis' attention is on him. He looks concerned and fond all at once, and it makes George feel warm.

"Y -- Er, yeah." George clears his throat. "Just, not what I'm used to, I guess. It feels good," he adds, wriggling a little until the feeling of the toy makes him buzz a little. He tries to breathe a little more evenly. "Wow."

Louis grins at him, the corners of his eyes wrinkled mischievously. "I had a feeling you'd like that one."

George curls into a lump in front of the computer. "I still have to get dressed," he mumbles. "I just want to stay here. Or -- go there. Whatever."

"No, you don't, really," Louis says gently. "The red carpet event when we were on the show, that's one of my favorite memories, personally. It's a good one because no matter how the show turns out, you know, you get to feel really properly famous and it's just fun. And you'll have to tell us about Skyfall because I'm dying to see it."

George smiles at him. He's a bit sleepy and a bit lonely, still, but it's better, and Louis knows how to make him feel a little like the time might pass more quickly than he thinks. "I guess," he mutters. "I think I'll probably stick to Jaymi most of the time."

"That's good," Louis encourages, nodding.

George blinks as the afternoon's excitement comes flooding back. "Oh! He's got a thing for Zayn, by the way. If there are any strings to be pulled there. He's one of Jaymi's Guilty-Free Three, you know, for a celebrity fuck."

This seems to surprise Louis into a burst of laughter, high and unrestrained. "Zayn's very happy with his girlfriend," he finally replies, still grinning. "He'll get a kick out of that, though."

George smiles. "Okay. It was worth a shot."

"I'll tell him next time I see him," Louis assures, still smiling and shaking his head. "What about you? Who's your Guilty-Free Three, then?"

George grins like the cat that got the canary. "Well, I'm fucking two of them."

This makes Louis preen a little, and even Harry lets out a little half-hearted _yay_ from where he's lying, spent, just off camera. "If the other one's any of my other band mates, I'll put in a good word."

"Er, no, if it's all the same I don't think I could handle more than I've got," George laughs, and the movement makes the toy shift a little inside him again.

"Good, because I don't think we're really looking to share you. Especially with, like, Niall." Louis wrinkles his nose. "I think we'll just keep you for us, if that's alright with you."

"It wouldn't be Niall," George assures them. He sighs and carefully rolls onto his belly, not minding that he's smearing come on the sheets because -- frankly, because it isn't his job to clean them and he's too fucked-out and happy to care anyway. He just watches with a slight smile as Louis helps Harry to sit up and massages the kinks out of his shoulders.

"How long until you need to be dressed for your premiere?" Louis asks. "I want to keep you naked as long as possible, but I'm also dying to see you in a suit."

As if waiting for a cue, there's a knock at the adjoining door. 

"Georgie?" It's Jaymi. "I'm sorry to erm, intrude, but our hair is to be done in about ten minutes, so you might want to shower?"

George shrugs and looks back to Louis on the screen. "About ten minutes then, I'd say."

"Get ready," Louis instructs, wrapping his arms around Harry's neck from behind and giving George a smile. "Text us pictures when you're all dressed up and beautiful."

"You could just Google them," George says loftily, nose in the air. "I _am_ in Union J, you know."

"Ooh, all the fame going to your head." Contrary to his words, Louis just looks delighted. "You're a big star now, aren't you? Taking your place in the spotlight."

"Well, I am in 'the next big boy band,'" George teases. Then he softens and leans in to the camera, confidential. "I've rarely worn a real suit. I'm pretty excited. But I think I'm going to pretend all night to be a spy."

"The spy who shagged me," Harry pipes up from his perch in Louis' arms.

"That was terrible," Louis informs him, though George is dying of laughter, so it's a little hard to hear. "You should be very ashamed, Harry."

"No, that was a good one," Harry argues mildly. "You said I can have two a day as long as they're the good ones. That was a good one."

"It was mediocre at best," Louis insists. "And the worst, at worst. You've known me practically your whole life. You should be funnier by now."

"I've known you _two years_!" Harry protests. "That's hardly my whole life."

"Well, it's the part of your life that's mattered."

"That's true," Harry says, and it's so gentle and sweet and honest that it makes George's heart ache a little to hear it.

"Cheeseball," Louis replies affectionately, kissing Harry's nose. "Go on, George, put your suit on. Dazzle them all," he commands. "They'll be casting you as James Bond next."

"Yes, with all my babyface and noodle arms, I'm every inch a stone-cold killer spy," George agrees. He flops onto his back and then frowns. "Erm, how do I -- I -- erm, sit? And also... stand up?"

"It's easier if you sort of -- sit like you've got something up your bum?" Harry offers. "It's hard to explain. You've sort of got to sit off to the side of yourself."

"Right," George sighs. "Sit like I've got something up my bum, 'cause I have something up my bum. Here goes."

"You'll be fantastic," Louis assures him. "Promise. We'll let you go get dapper."

George smiles, ducking his head. "Thanks. I'll talk to you later, if you aren't busy."

"We probably are, but talk to us anyway," Harry says agreeably. "We like you better than work."

"I'd like you better than work, too, if you were _going to the premiere of Skyfall_ ," George jokes, then bites his lip and blushes. "If I'm honest, I actually do think I'd rather have a cuddle and a carbonara about now, but James Bond is a good number two."

"He's number double-O seven," Harry corrects.

"Okay, you _know_ that one was awful," Louis berates, giving Harry a light smack on his bum. "Stop trying to distract George with your terrible jokes; he's got a premiere to get ready for."

Harry waves cheerfully at George, who blows a kiss in reply and shuts down the computer. Standing up takes him longer than usual, but not as long as he'd feared, although walking to the shower is interesting.

He has a vague desire, once he's soaping up, to see if the detachable shower-head will do anything for him with this thing inside. Now's probably not a good time to test that, though, so he just finishes washing quickly and steps out into the cool air of the bathroom.

Shivering, George has to bend down to dry his toes and then pop up almost as fast when the plug shifts alarmingly, slipping out of him a little. Alright, no bending over at the premiere.

He'll just have to have Jaymi carry anything of value, like his tickets, lest it fall on the red carpet.

His suit is all ready to be put on when he exits into the main room, and he swallows, staring at it. This is actually happening. He's going to his first movie premiere and he's got to wear a suit and he's getting his hair done for it and, and he's got a buttplug in. 

George never anticipated this.

Even without the buttplug, actually, he'd never anticipated this. It wasn't as if he'd tried out for the X Factor on a lark, exactly; he'd wanted to get in and he'd had a tiny cocky streak that thought he might, on account of, well, looking a little like Harry Styles when he does his hair the right way. But to walk a red carpet at the movie premiere of the year, that... he had never expected for this to be a part of his life. Deep inside, George still feels like the fat kid in the corner playing Pokemon around the cast on his broken wrist, really, so for this -- this to be his life, it seems impossible.

It doesn't get any less frightening when he's in his suit, adjusting his jacket in the mirror when there's another knock at the adjoining door.

"George?" Jaymi calls. "Is it alright if we come in now?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm all dressed, and stuff," George says in return, trying to decide if the shoes he's been given actually make his feet look gigantic or if that's in his brain.

Jaymi opens the door and smiles at him. "You, erm, all set then?"

"Yeah, I'm alright," George says, blushing fiercely. "Oh, but could you hold my tickets? Only I can't, erm, bend over if I drop things."

"Oh, my god, you're actually wearing it," Jaymi mutters, grinning in what looks like disbelief. "Yeah, I can hold your stuff for you. No problem." He has to rush to get his own suit on in time, so there's not much opportunity for them to exchange words, but at one point George spots Jaymi giving his arse a speculative look and then shaking his head.

"What?" George asks, instinctively covering his bum with his hands. "You're the one who was all, 'oh, wear it, it's not that weird, do it, Georgie.'"

"There's a difference between _telling_ you that you should do something and knowing you've actually done it!" Jaymi protests. "God, I'm not going to be able to think about anything else, now, aside from your stupid bum."

"Well, you'll fit right in on Twitter, then," George mumbles, and fusses with his fringe. "Is Jamie here yet to do hair things?"

"Yeah, so stop worrying over it." Jaymi bats at his hands. "Sorry, I'm a bit nervous. First massive movie premiere, you know." He lets out a laugh that's slightly higher than his normal one.

"You'll be brilliant, Jaymi Bond," George jokes in a deep voice. He cuffs Jaymi's shoulder. "Really, you will. You look swoony."

"Shut up," Jaymi mutters, but he looks a little less peaky and even manages a shaky smile. "I was doing alright earlier. I think JJ's about wet himself."

"We're all having pants issues, aren't we?" George muses.

"I don't want to hear about your pants issues!" Jaymi says, loud at the beginning but obviously attempting to be quiet by the end as he nearly hisses the last word. "Just -- keep it to yourself."

"Alright, alright." George frowns at him. "No need to get all shouty. You really are nervous, aren't you?"

"Yeah, sorry, just I was talking to my nan and she thinks Prince Charles might be there?"

George goes stock-still and blinks at Jaymi. "Your nan thinks Prince Charles might be there, and we might meet him, and now you're telling me that I might meet Prince Charles _while I am wearing a -- the, thing_?"

"And probably loads of movie stars," Jaymi agrees, and he actually has a shaky smile on, now. "Actually, that's made me feel a bit better. At least I'm not wearing one of those while we do this."

"Oh, thanks, really!" George laughs, throwing his hands up. "So supportive!"

"I aim to please," teases Jaymi, straightening up and brushing lint that isn't there off his suit. "Shall we join the others, then?"

George nods, but he dawdles in front of the full-length mirror on the back of their door before they leave.

"You can't see it, if that's what you're worrying about." Jaymi leans against the wall and gives him another looking-over. "You're wearing dark trousers anyway, like I said, so you're fine."

George runs his hand over the seat of the crisply-pressed trousers anyway, then adjusts the cuffs and collar of the suit. "Yeah, okay. I just don't want to look a fool. Even outside of that, I want to look good."

"You look fantastic." Jaymi smiles warmly at him. "You always do. Don't pretend you don't know. You'll look a sight better when you've got your hair done, though."

George smiles and rolls his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I need to look less like me and more like Harry to look good, I get it. I'm not being depressive," he adds quickly as Jaymi opens his mouth. "This time, anyway. I'm just laughing at irony in my head."

"As long as you're not being depressive," Jaymi says after a moment, sighing. "You put the rest of us to shame, you do. Now stop thinking about your arse and come on or they'll kick us out of the band and we won't get to go to the premiere at all."

George laughs a little and follows Jaymi out of the room. "Yeah, the cute one and the lead singer, _always_ a boy band's best bet to kick out for their own success."

Jaymi looks surprised and pleased, and a little bit guilty. "I'm -- I'm not, though, am I? Or -- Never mind," he concludes, nudging the back of George's hand with his own. "I feel like we're in a film of our own, dressed like this."

"I know what you mean," George says, and pulls at the cuffs of his jacket again. "Not sure what sort of film yet, though."

Jaymi smirks. "I know." He makes a gun with two fingers and pivots to press it up against the side of George's head. "I'm Hensley. James Hensley."

George laughs and holds his hands up in surrender. "You'd make an adorable James Bond. I don't know that the villains could take you seriously. And that'd be their worst mistake."

"It would be, because I'm very frightening." Jaymi keeps his finger-gun pointed at George. "Surrender, or else."

George points his own finger gun up right under Jaymi's ribs. "Do you really expect me to take your villainry lying down, Mr. Hensley?"

"No, Shelley." Jaymi cocks his wrists and refocuses on George's temple. "I expect you to _die_."

"You expect wrong!" George knocks Jaymi's wrist out of the way and ducks past him, nearly sprinting down the hall. It's much harder to run in a suit than he'd hope.

And _oh_ \-- there, yeah, no -- no running. George skids to a stop and grasps onto the molding of the wall to catch his breath because sort of _ow_ and sort of _wow_.

"Learning as you go?" Jaymi doesn't even have to run at all, merely ambling up behind George with an amused look on his face. "You're making it very easy to capture you, villain."

"That's not fair," George pants. "I've been compromised in the field!"

"What's going on?" asks JJ, poking his head out into the hallway and frowning at them. He looks a little like it's hard, though, his lips curling up at the edges. "If you get your suits dirty, they'll murder you, I'm not joking."

Jaymi smirks and swats George's bum lightly. "Yeah, George. Don't get your suit dirty."

The noise George makes isn't entirely human, he doesn't think. "I'll do my best," he grits out, glaring at Jaymi through his fringe.

JJ holds his hands up. "I don't want to know. I don't care, just, be good," he commands.

It takes two tries for George to sit down comfortably on the hairdressers' chair, but once he's got the hang of it, it's not entirely unlike sitting normally. He just has to shift all of his weight to one side.

"Comfortable?" mumbles Jaymi from his other side, and when George tries to look at him without moving his head, he's pretty sure he's smirking.

"Extremely, thanks," George replies with a huff that makes Jamie swat his shoulder.

"Eh?" Jamie asks absently, finger-combing through George's curls one-by-one and spritzing them with salt spray. "What's happening?"

"Oh, it's just wee George has never worn a suit before," Jaymi explains, while Lou dots concealer over his neck tattoo. "Can you believe?"

"Oh, bless," says Jamie, as he does something that makes George's scalp feel weird, but he does it every time so he thinks it's okay. "Not ever? You do look very dashing."

George's face is magenta in the mirror. "Thanks, Jamie."

"Oh, I'm James today," he replies. "Like everyone else. James Bond."

"We're all James, then." Jaymi laughs. "Me, and you, and JJ too, I guess. Not George, though. George can be the evil one."

"I can be Goldfinger," George offers.

"You could be Pussy Galore," Josh counters from his own barber's chair.

"She wasn't a villain," George says airily, trying not to make a face. "I'm very evil, I have to be a villain."

"Who's the one with the white cat?" JJ asks. "And the little-person? Mini-Me?"

"Is that James Bond? I thought that was the other one." Jaymi frowns. "We probably should've done some research on this."

George is too busy laughing to answer right away. "That isn't James Bond at all! That's Austin Powers, that's not even a real spy! Honestly, JJ, you're such a cabbage."

"You're a cabbage," JJ mumbles, his face gone sulky. "I mix up all the spy films. If you've seen one, you've seen them all."

"Oh," George softens, although his eyes are still sparkling. "You know I love you, JJ. You're my best big baby-footed bro."

"I'd better be." JJ still sounds grumpy, but he's not pouting anymore. "I don't know how you'd be able to find another one so quickly."

George laughs, and finds that whenever he does, the pressure on the toy inside him changes just enough to remind him that it's there. "That's a good point."

He shuts his mouth when Jamie gives him a pinch and obediently remains very still so that he can finish getting his hair all curly. It's not that he minds being compared to Harry; he _likes_ Harry, but he still thinks this is all a bit much. Aside from a little bit in the face, they don't even look alike.

"Well," Josh says, looking over at George in the mirrors, "Aren't you looking _Stylesish_ this evening."

George is about ready to get his hackles raised when he notices -- Josh is actually smiling. It's more of a smirk, but it's still something. Josh is joking. With him. Not at him.

It feels like enough of an accomplishment that he shoots a look at Jaymi that asks, _did you tell them after all?_

Jaymi raises his eyebrows in return, giving his head a minute little shake. Well, that's very weird, then.

"It's a new look I'm trying out," he replies, returning Josh's look in the mirror. "I thought it might be nice to try something fresh, something that's never been done before."

Josh gives him a tiny nod as Cindy pats down his face with a matte sheet. "I know what you mean. This pompadour is totally new. I can't think of any other British vampires who've ever had one."

George actually laughs at that one, nearly ducking his head before he reconsiders. "We're a very original band, after all. Nothing that's ever happened before."

JJ looks a little sulky again. "But that's true. There's never been a Union J."

"That's very true," George agrees, and not just to placate him. He's getting a little tired of all the people comparing them to One Direction, and he knows the others are, too. They're trying to just be Union J but it's hard when people keep trying to tell you to be someone else. "We're the very first one."

"After us, the next big boy band will have to be Union K," Jaymi says, and when nobody laughs, he throws his hands up. "Really? I thought that was good!"

"Can we start a rule that you only get two bad puns a day?" George asks, thinking of Harry and Louis. "Is that a thing we can do?"

"No, 'cause then he'll spend the whole day trying to convince us his bad ones are really good." Josh shakes his head mournfully. "It's best to just let it go. He might give up if you ignore him."

George smiles a little, looking down at his hands. He isn't sure why Josh has begun warming to him, but he doesn't want to ruin it. He wants to feel about _all_ of his bandmates what Harry and Louis feel for Niall and Zayn and Liam. That's one thing he wouldn't mind having in common with One Direction. That and all of the success, anyway.

"Alright, that's you done," Jamie tells him, giving George a pat on the shoulder. "Don't touch it at all, though, or it'll fall," he warns like he always does.

"Yeah, George," Jaymi says. "Don't touch it too much or it'll fall out."

George blinks slowly and counts to four in his head, intent on not _actually_ being a supervillain and _murdering Jaymi_. "I think I understand, James, thanks."

"Just trying to be helpful," Jaymi says cheerfully. Out of the corner of George's eye, he can see both JJ and Josh giving them confused and borderline suspicious looks, but like hell he's telling them anything.

It takes George another two tries to stand up again, but he manages. It's getting a little easier the more he's just used to having the plug in, but whenever he forgets a moment and moves in an unusual -- or really, a usual, but not for this context -- way, the fat head of it brushes up lightly against his prostate and he's reduced to gasping for breath again.

He has no idea how he's going to make it through the premiere, being rushed from place to place and inundated with camera flashes and having to sit for the film and stand after the film. He's going to go mad, he's pretty sure.

He fishes his phone out of his jacket pocket and shoots a quick text to Louis. _can I yellow even if you're not here?_

It takes a few minutes for him to get a response, a few minutes he spends leaning against the wall and deliberately not touching anything with his bum.

 _second thoughts? do u need 2 take it out?_ is the message he receives in return.

George shifts just a little and gasps at the light, shuddering tease inside him. _Not sure_ , he writes back. _Just nervous to sit so long w/ it_.

This time the response comes quickly. _H says u wont even notice past 10min. that ok?_

George bites his lip and pauses. Before he can answer, another text comes through.

 _if you need to yellow or red that''s ok weather we 're there or not just tell me_.

He just wants so badly to please Louis, and he knows that in theory, he could tell Louis he's done it but really take out the plug, except that'd be a lie and he doesn't know if he can do that. He doesn't want to lie to Louis, ever.

 _Let u know? Its ok now but idk for later_.

Louis writes back right away. _of course love . just be honest please !!!_

Right, that settles it. He's not lying, and he can always bunk off to the loo later if he needs to take it out. And then he'll figure out a place to put it that isn't his arse. How deep are these pockets again?

He's testing how much of his hand he can fit in his trousers when Jaymi strolls up to stand by him, leaning close and keeping his voice low. "You alright?" he asks George quietly.

George nods. "Yeah, 'm'OK. Louis says I can take it out whenever I want."

"Course you can, if you need to," Jaymi agrees. "And you're going to tell me, if anything's wrong? I mean, I know I'm not them, or whatever, but..." He shrugs. "I can do my best to help, can't I?"

George smiles, but peers up at Jaymi through his fringe. "Not making fun of me would be a start?"

Jaymi looks a little startled, and abashed. "Oh, I didn't know it was actually bothering you. Is it actualy bothering you? I take the piss out of everyone."

George shrugs. "I'm already feeling a little -- like, exposed. Or I guess scared of being exposed." His mouth twitches. "But I don't want to sound like a baby."

"Not at all." Jaymi pats George's shoulder apologetically. "If I'd known you didn't like it so much, I would've stopped."

He leans in a little closer and gives George the eyebrows. "That's why you have to tell people how you're feeling, alright?"

"Yeah," George sighs, giving him a wry smile. "That does keep coming back to bite me. I'm not really used to people..." Asking. Caring. Stopping. " -- wanting me to tell them," he decides.

Jaymi looks concerned, to George just barrels on. "I mean I'm not used to being, like, people's concern? I have about a baker's dozen siblings, right, I can't complain about things until they hit a 10. A 10 is like, broken bones or... having murdered a bunch of people in the garden, or something. I don't know."

Strangely, this just makes Jaymi look more alarmed. "Maybe, let's tell Jaymi about things before you're murdering people in the garden, alright? You're allowed to complain about stuff. I complain about stuff all the time."

"I've noticed," JJ barges in, coming through the door. He moves to jump onto Jaymi's back, then remembers his suit and stops himself mid-pounch crouch. "What are you complaining about now, Bossy Spice?"

"George murdering people in gardens," Jaymi replies seamlessly, leaning out of his secretive stance with George. "It's a problem he has and I'm concerned about our future status as living band members."

JJ blinks. "Are they bad people?"

"Are they bad people?" Jaymi dutifully asks, turning back to George expectantly. "They're probably kittens."

"I would _never_ kill kittens and bury them in my garden!" George protests, scandalized. "I only kill drug dealers and paedophiles. They make the begonias grow better come spring."

"You're creepy," Jaymi decides, turning back to JJ.

"You're both creepy." JJ shakes his head, bewildered. "Anyway, that's me done. Once Josh is done, they want us down to the car."

"Aren't we supposed to film something?" George asks. "A video package or something, with the suits?"

"Probably, I don't know, I'm awful at keeping track," JJ admits with a shrug. "Josh'll know, you can ask him."

George is spared asking by Ella showing up and exclaiming over him in his suit, and then he's handed an iPad and told to "show off and look excited," so he does his best.

He does wonder if any of the others would prefer to do things like this. It seems he's always the one holding the iPad or sitting in the front for TwitCams or having microphones shoved at him. He does appreciate that he has a sizable fanbase, but there are three other interesting people in the band who could hold the electronics.

He's glad enough to hand off the tablet to Ella when Kye comes lolloping down the hall and there's another fake stand-off in the hallway, everyone armed with double finger-guns and expensive pressed suits or black gowns.

Really, George thinks, The X Factor isn't as much about singing as it is about looking ridiculous and letting cameras film you do it. He'd thought differently when he'd tried out, and this whole experience has basically been an exercise in proving to him that there's very little singing in this singing competition.

It's all about who's having the week of getting favor, isn't it? When Ella's getting good press, she's the "clear winner, and only sixteen," but when she's quiet and Jahmene's off singing for Samuel L. Jackson, well. George guesses that Ella might feel what the rest of them have, and he isn't keen for it. Ella should always be happy, he thinks, watching her laugh with JJ and Josh, in her black lace dress.

He likes to think that he helps a little, to make her happier than she'd be if he wasn't around. She laughs a lot when he makes stupid jokes or funny faces, and every time she looks sad, he does his best to cheer her up. She's honestly his best friend, he thinks, and he's never really had a best friend before.

He wants to stay in the competition so badly it hurts, not just for his career or even for himself, he wants to stay for Ella and for Jaymi and JJ and everyone else. George even wants to stay for Josh, because Josh wants this so badly he's willing to try and be kind to someone he doesn't even really like in order to win. And George has to respect that, even if it makes him feel sort of awful.

He locks the iPad, then goes over and puts one arm around Josh's shoulders and the other around Ella's waist. "Shall we?"

Josh barely hesitates at all before he puts his own arm around George's waist. They're getting better. "We shall," he says solemnly, as Ella gives them both a dazzling smile.

"I've always sort of wanted to be a Bond girl, secretly," she admits. "Although I'm not much keen on being one of the slow-mo bikini out of the ocean types. I want to be the gun-toting heroine type, I think."

"I think you could pull that off," says George thoughtfully. He eyes her dress critically. "I don't know where you'd hide your gun, though. You'd need one of those holsters that goes up your leg."

Jaymi covers his mouth and makes desperate whimpering noises, his eyes wide and staring at George like he might explode.

George just blinks at him, smiling faintly. "Are you alright, Jaymi?" he asks, keeping his tone polite. "Did you need a drink?"

Jaymi shakes his head and squeaks. "I'm fine!"

"Well, if you're sure." George turns back to Ella to see her looking between him and Jaymi in confusion. That's been happening a lot, tonight. "You look gorgeous, by the way, did I mention? You really could be in a film."

Ella grins, her eyes lighting up. "You look passable, Monkey. You'll do, and that."

"Monkeys don't wear suits very often." George pretends to scratch under his arms. "We're not very sophisticated."

Ella laughs delightedly and kisses George's cheek, leaving the faintest smear of lip gloss on his face. She smudges it away with her thumb, and George feels -- he has Jaymi sharing a secret and Ella taking care of him, JJ and Josh and Kye playing spy with him, and Louis and Harry ghosting inside him, and he feels -- kind of... _loved_. Spectacularly.

He's powerless to stop from smiling, which is good, as he's going to need to do it a lot tonight. He's never been to a movie premiere before, obviously, but all the ones he's seen videos from have loads of cameras flashing away and people shouting for celebrities to smile. He's not a celebrity yet, he doesn't think, but that means this could be his only chance at this.

He takes a deep breath, then immediately remembers that oh, he can't do that right now.

"Do we know when we're supposed to go downstairs?" he asks instead of groaning like he wants to. He reminds himself firmly that if it gets to be too much, Louis' said he can say yellow or red or whatever he needs to. He's safe.

"Do we ever know anything?" Josh asks, and his hand moves like he wants to fix his fringe across his eyes out of habit before he remembers that his hair doesn't really move anymore.

"Fair point," George mutters. They're sort of the last to know most things involving themselves. It's a bit frustrating. "I'm sure someone will come and get us, or whatever."

"Whatever the plan for tonight is, _my_ plan is to get drunk on free champagne and hopefully pick up a lower-tier model," Kye says, rubbing his hands together.

"The champagne is free?" George perks up a little. If there's free alcohol, maybe the night won't seem as long, and he won't even notice the pressure of the plug inside him.

"I thought we were supposed to drink martinis, shaken, not stirred," he says, cocking his head. "But no matter. Booze is booze."

"And booze is good," Kye agrees. He narrows his Kyeliner'd eyes at George. "You've no idea how badly I want to muss your hair _all the time_."

George nearly crosses his eyes in the effort to look at his own fringe. "You can't," he warns preemptively. "Jamie'll kill you. It took ages."

"I know, I know, I won't," Kye assures him. "I just _want_ to. You're entirely too adorable for your own good. It makes me question my own sexuality, if I'm honest."

"He makes everyone question their sexuality," Josh mutters. "It's his thing."

George looks down at his feet. In Vegas, Josh had made it very clear that he was only accepting George's offer because an orgasm was an orgasm, not because it was George, and that if he ever tried it again, Josh wouldn't be so accomodating. If accomodating could be the word for it at al, since George could barely walk or talk the next day. Which was well enough since he liked it to hurt a bit, but all the same with Josh... it might have made things worse instead of better.

The hand on his waist sort of squeezes, a little, and when George looks up, Josh actually looks half-apologetic. 

"That's good, though, right? Gets us votes, and that," Josh says.

George rolls his eyes. "It also gets us a walloping on Celebrity Juice, doesn't it?"

"Because everyone on Celebrity Juice wants to fuck you, obviously," is Josh's reply, and he rolls his eyes right back. "Can you name one person in the world who doesn't want to fuck you, honestly?"

George hesitates before he says it, even though he knows it's the right answer. "You."

Josh's face kind of closes off, and he looks away, down and to the side. "Yeah, well," he mumbles. He sounds like he's going to go on, but instead he clears his throat. "Maybe we should wait in the lobby?"

They all head down to the lobby, George's arm wrapped around Ella's waist proudly.

George can hear Josh and JJ whispering furiously behind them, but he can't make out what they're saying. To be honest, he doesn't think he wants to know, anyway.

And then they're being shepherded out of the hotel and through a throng of screaming fans. And then they're pulling up to the red carpet premiere of the 50th anniversary James Bond film, and they're posing on the red carpet while people scream their names and shove microphones in their faces and ask questions about their career trajectory.

It's overwhelming, to say the least. George sticks close to Jaymi for as much of it as he can, playing off of him to answer questions and laughing whenever he does, even if he can't hear what the person holding the microphone said that was so funny.

They're asked what they plan to do if they meet Prince Charles, and George blanks.

"Do you curtsy?"

"You _would_ curtsy," Jaymi teases, and George gives a little bow -- and nope, no, _oh_ that was maybe a mistake, and he knows his breath catches audibly as he bites his lip between his teeth and his pupils flash wide.

Thankfully, Jaymi keeps talking until they've got to move along, because George can't think of anything to say. He really hopes he's not coming across all spacey and weird. He doesn't want a reputation as the spacey, weird one.

"Y'alright?" mutters Jaymi as he tugs George along, giving him a discreet look as they hurry down the red carpet. "No bowing?"

George shakes his head a little frantically. "No curtsying, neither. Let's hope Prince Charles is a casual royal."

"You know, I've heard that about him," Jaymi says under his breath, giving another group of reporters a jaunty wave and a grin. "Actually, he likes it best when you just go for a hug."

"Har har," George laughs. "I know I'm _the_ baby of the group, but I'm not actually _a_ baby."

"And thank god for that," Jaymi says seriously. "I'm not sure babies are old enough for all the things you get up to in your spare time." He pauses. "I don't know if _I'm_ old enough for all of that."

George goes a bit pink, but just follows JJ and Josh up the stairs and into the massive theater. The X Factor contestants don't have the best seats -- those are reserved for like, actual properly famous celebrities -- but they're good enough. George moves to sit between Jaymi and Ella, and it only takes him a minute's squirming once he's sat down to feel set. There's just a light, rocking pressure now, and it's enough to make him buzz a little and feel slightly hot, but not enough to make him worry he'll embarrass himself.

Jaymi keeps a hand on George's on the arm-rest for a moment, and leans close to mumble, "Remember, if it's too much, you don't have to," before he reclines back in his seat. "These are so comfortable!" he exclaims.

"Living the high life, we are," JJ agrees, and rests his ankles on the seat back in front of them. 

Jade flicks his shin as she sweeps in to take the seat. "You can take the boy out of the stables but can't take the stable out of the boy, can you?"

JJ grumbles. "You can take the foot rest from the boy, apparently," he mutters.

They are indeed served martinis before the lights dim -- even Ella gets one -- and George is glad that he has the iPad tucked into his suit jacket so they can all snap photos and remember the occasion before they start boozing.

"I feel like a proper popstar," he hears Jaymi whisper before the film begins, his voice filled with delight and something else, something like wistfulness. George is pretty sure he understands, so he reaches over to squeeze Jaymi's hand.

Jaymi squeezes back, and it's nice. George leaves his hand there for a long while.

The film is good, and Harry was right that once George finds a position that's comfortable, he barely notices the plug. At one point, his leg starts to fall asleep, and he shifts without thinking, and he's so, so grateful they're watching a film with explosions, because he gasps at the feeling shooting up the base of his spine.

Jaymi squeezes his hand. "You alright?" 

George is alright -- maybe better than alright, because that was a _good_ sort of jolt, and he's half-hard in his pants now, right on the edge, and with enough booze in his system that he isn't embarrassed about it in the dark of the theater.

"Yeah," he whispers. "Great."

"Good," Jaymi replies with another squeeze to his hand. His voice is hushed enough that George feels like nobody else can hear them, and all of a sudden wishes he had more to say.

On the screen, someone gets shot in a burst of machine gunfire, and Ella buries her face in George's shoulder on his other side, bringing him part of the way back to the real world. He chuckles softly and wraps his arm around Ella, letting her nestle down into his armpit.

"Should've known you wouldn't like violence," he whispers into her hair. "Are you even permitted to see this? Is there an age admittance?"

"I don't think I want to be a Bond girl anymore," she whispers back. "Can I just be a popstar?"

George huffs laughter as quietly as he can. "Of course you can. You were always going to be, anyway. We talked about you," he remembers. "Out there, I mean. About how lovely you are."

"Shut up!" Jade hisses, turning around. "I'm trying to hear."

"All there is to hear is gunfire!" Ella whispers back, peeking out through her fingers from her hiding place on George's chest.

Jade just shushes them again, and George makes a motion like he's zipping his lips. Of course, he unzips them as soon as Jade turns around.

"Do you want to go get some air?" he asks Ella gently. "I don't mind missing some. All James Bond films are a little the same."

Ella's starting to look a bit nauseous, but she hesitates. "Only if you're really, really sure," she says. "It's your first premiere, too."

"I know. We finished the premierey bit." George needs to stand anyway, he thinks, just to change some angles lest he not be _able_ to stand later. And he does need some air, the bubbles in the champagne and the bite of the martini clouding his head. "Let's go. Budge up and squeeze past JJ."

"Oh, alright," Ella accepts, touching JJ's arm and quietly asking him if they can move past. He tucks his legs up out of the way, offering her a concerned look.

Once they're ushered out of the viewing hall -- by an actual usher, black waistcoat and all -- Ella seems to perk up a little.

"Bit less stuffy out here, isn't it?" George asks, shifting from foot to foot. Standing sort of helped and sort of didn't. Now he can feel the plug with every step he takes, but whenever he stops moving, it always seems to press right against his sweet spot and he needs to move again.

He tries standing with his legs apart a little more than may look natural, and fixes his fringe without thinking about it. Only when his fingers come away a little sticky does he remember the work that went into his "tousled, natural bedhead."

"Oh, shit." He looks at Ella with puppy-eyes. "Do I still look alright?"

She looks at him blankly. "I can't tell the difference at all. It still looks a bit like you've stuck your finger in a socket."

"Is that a good look?"

Ella rolls her eyes. "What's a bad look, on you? You could be wearing a dress and you'd look better than me."

George grins. "I do have nice calves."

"You have a nice everything." Ella frowns at him and pinches his arm. "I'm very jealous."

George makes a sad noise. "You have lovely everything, too."

"Well. Thank you." Ella draws herself up as well as she can before drooping again. "I'm sorry for ruining your watching experience. You can go back in, if you want. I'll be alright out here."

"No, that's okay," George says honestly. "I'd rather spend time with you any day. Being so near Prince Charles was making me nervous as it was."

That makes Ella laugh, at least, though she still looks a sight more pale than she normally does. "I was alright until everything started exploding," she insists. "I'm not very good with loud noises?"

George wrinkles his nose and pokes her ribs, grinning. "That's funny as you sing _very_ loudly so early in the morning when you shower."

"Well, I'm not _blowing people up_ with it, am I?" Ella laughs, squirming away from him. "I can't break the sound barrier."

"Yet," George teases. He leans in and pokes at Ella's cheek with his nose until she squirms away, tickled but smiling. "Let's go find some alcohol. They're serving you, for a change, and we shouldn't waste the premiere experience, right?"

"I could probably do with another drink," says Ella decisively after a moment. "It's not going to blow up in my face, is it?"

George pretends to consider it. "Only if you follow with a shot of nitroglycerine, I think."

"I'll try to avoid that, then." She offers him her arm to take, smiling. "Come on, be a gentleman."

George grins and offers his own elbow, and they make their way down to the bar. It's almost deserted, of course, since the movie is in progress -- only the barstaff and a woman in a sweeping purple velvet gown were in the room, besides them.

Ella pokes George in the ribs. "Is that Camilla?"

George looks and squeaks under his breath. "It might be. I still don't know whether I'm to bow or curtsy!"

"Maybe do a bowing curtsy?" Ella tries to demonstrate, but she's giggling too hard.

In the end, they take Jaymi's nan's advice -- shut up and smile -- and head to the opposite side of the bar from where she's sitting.

"What do you want?" George asks Ella curiously, eying the assortment of pretty bottles adorning the shelves behind the bar.

"Something nice," Ella says vaguely. "Maybe something fruity."

"Something fruity," George repeats to himself, shaking his head. "Alright. Something fruity, I guess?"

Ella nods. "Or chocolaty. Do you think they have anything chocolaty?"

"Probably not," George admits. "This is a sort of classy place and chocolate drinks aren't very classy."

"How very dare you." Ella sniffs and turns away, back towards the bar. She rests her chin on her hand and her elbow on the bar top. "I'm extremely classy."

"Oh, very classy. Maybe you should just ask for a classy drink, as it'd match your sparkling personality." George grins at her.

"I just might," Ella challenges, grinning. Then she frowns. "Why are you still standing up, weirdo? Hop up and take a seat while the bar's still empty."

"I don't think it's going to fill up any time soon," George hedges. "Most people are watching, you know, the film we've all come to see."

"Ugh, stuff it," Ella grumbles. "But really, if you're that worried about creasing your suit, I think they've expected you'll sit in it."

There's really no way for him to get out of this, George doesn't think. If he claims to want to keep standing, she'll know something's weird, and while George loves his Ella Bear, he thinks there might be a line there he doesn't want to cross.

He sighs, and slowly lowers himself onto one of the stools. He realizes after that he should've got it all over with at once, because doing it slowly just gives him time to savor the slow drag of the toy inside him.

The second thing is realizes is that on a small, backless bar stool, there is no conceivable way to sit with all of his weight on one side or he'll fall off in a heap on the floor. He tries standing a little on the rungs of the legs and just _appearing_ to be sitting, but that makes his thighs too tired. 

Right.

He has to grab on to the edge of the bar when he finally sits down all the way, his weight grinding the plug up inside him as deep as it can go. He has to bite his lip hard to keep from moaning, and feels himself break into a sweat.

"Georgie, are you alright?" Ella's hand is cool when she touches her fingertips to the side of his neck, and George whimpers slightly, trying to keep quiet.

"I'm fine," he whispers raggedly. "Can you not touch me a moment, please?"

Ella snatches her fingers back, but she looks even more anxious now. George has to close his eyes and take a few deep breaths, keeping as still as he possibly can.

"George?" asks Ella quietly.

"I'm fine," he murmurs, even though his brain is starting to edge out fuzzy and he thinks hard _not the place not the time not the place not the time_. "Can you -- ugh, can you -- pinch me maybe? I don't know..."

Ella doesn't seem to want to do that at all, but she does, gripping the flesh of his inner arm and pinching it hard. She has nails on to match her dress, and they hurt more than a normal pinch would.

It helps. George is a little surprised that it helps, but it does, and he's back to himself enough to slide down from the seat and stand again, leaning hard on the bar as everything settles back to where it should be. Well, 'should be' subjectively, insofar as having plastic up your bum in public goes.

"I think I'm just going to stand," he manages weakly, taking in slow, deep breaths. He still feels warmer than he should, and he's definitely a bit hard now, but he's more in control.

Ella just frowns. "Are you ill? Do we need to go back to the hotel?"

"No." George huffs out a laugh but stops when it just sounds like a cough. "No, I'm alright now. I'm okay."

Ella narrows her eyes, but doesn't say anything. They finally get to order their drinks, and despite Ella's glare, George gets a double vodka straight because fuck it, he really needs to be drunk.

"It's free," he says, like that's the whole reason he wants it.

"Right," Ella says dryly. "Listen, I -- understand you don't want to tell me everything, like you used to, but I feel like if you're bad off enough you're needing me to pinch you... maybe just say yes or no, is this something to do with Harry and Louis and the stuff you do with them?"

George is pretty sure that she knows already, and pretty sure she'll hit him if he lies, which he doesn't want to do anyway. "Yes," he answers quietly.

Ella touches his arm gently, as though to make up for the pinch, and leans in. "I know you said you didn't want them to hit you, but I have been reading on things. Have they hurt you so badly you can't sit?"

"No, it's nothing like that." George's hands move in fidgety twitches, like he wants to explain with them but doesn't know how. "I'm not hurt, they don't hurt me unless I ask for it, and even then it's never anything serious."

Ella's eyes narrow again. "Is it something I really should stop asking about?"

"I don't think you actually want to know," George admits, gritting his teeth a little as he tries to move to lean against the bar differently. He's still feeling the effects of having the plug so deep, and it's not as easy to talk as it was.

Ella nods and holds up one hand hesitantly. "Can I rub your back or anything? I read -- I read affection and cuddles can help?"

George melts a little at that. "You're really that concerned?"

"I'm not _concerned_ ," Ella insists. "I just don't want you getting all, like you were." She sets her hand on his arm. "I want to be able to help."

George pushes himself off the bar and kisses Ella's cheek. "You are concerned, and it's very sweet. I really appreciate it. I'm fine though, now. Really, really I am. I just can't sit on the bar stools."

"If you're really, really sure," Ella says, looking at him seriously. "Only if you're really sure. I really can give you, like, a tummy rub if you need one."

George puffs a surprised laugh. "I don't think that would help at the moment, Ella Bear. Maybe another day."

"You can have a coupon, or something." Ella gives him a firm nod. "Good for one tummy rub."

George grins and toasts her with his vodka. "I will keep that coupon for a day you make me eat those disgusting chocolate pastries."

"Those pastries are delicious!" Ella protests, her mouth open in indignation. "You just have no taste for fine dining."

The bartender chooses that moment to deliver Ella her poisonously acid-green appletini, and George raises his eyebrows.

"It's pretty, isn't it?" Ella takes a delicate sip and frowns thoughtfully. "I like it," she decides. "It's very fruity, like I wanted."

George snorts. "As long you're happy."

"I am. Are you happy with yours?" Ella asks as she takes another sip. "I probably won't want more than one of these, I think. It's quite strong."

George looks down at his empty vodka glass, then back up at Ella. "Oh."

"You can drink more," she assures him. "Although -- should I be letting you drink? Not that I'm, erm, in charge of you or your choices, just... no one else is here right now. Except Camilla Parker Bowles. She could stop you drinking, I guess."

"Probably, she could." George thinks on that. He really does want to get drunk. He's half there already, so it seems like a good idea to finish the job. "Would you mind if I did have another?"

Ella holds up both hands and leans down to take an indelicate slurp of her martini. "Far be it from me."

By the time the bar starts filling -- George hazily supposes the movie must be over -- Ella has in fact had a second 'tini, this one pomegranate, and George is on his way to happily sloppy after three double vodkas.

"Let me know if you see anyone from my band," he instructs Ella, draining the last of his glass. "I should probably stick near them."

Ella nods. Her cheeks are pink and her eyes wide, and George thinks she looks beautiful. So he tells her.

She laughs, all tinkly and pretty. "Thank you, but I think you might be drunk," she tells him before laughing again. "I think I might be halfway to drunk," she admits.

"I'm only a little drunk," George argues. "I'm only as drunk as a monkey... bear."

"That doesn't even make _sense_!" Ella laughs loud and hiccuppy.

"There should be monkey-bears." George smiles just thinking about it. "How cute would those be?"

"I think they'd be scary," Ella argues. Then her face lights up and she waves. "Oh, it's Jaymi! Jaymi, would monkey-bears be cute, or scary?"

"Erm, cute," Jaymi decides, giving them a curious look. "Have you both just been out here drinking during the entire film?"

Ella nods enthusiastically. "I had a green one and a fuchsia one!"

"Great," Jaymi says. "George, what did you drink?"

George thinks about this. "Clear ones."

"Clear ones," Jaymi repeats. "Alright, how many clear ones? Are those both yours?" He points between the two empty glasses on the bar.

George nods. "I had... thr-four-three clear ones!"

"Oh, god," Jaymi mumbles, looking between him and Ella. "You shouldn't even be allowed to drink," he realizes, frowning. "You're not of age!"

"I am!" George cheers. "I can drink whatever I want. Ella is sneaking, though. Naughty Ella Bear."

Jaymi is rubbing his head. He looks like he doesn't know whether to be exasperated or amused. "I suppose I'd better look after the both of you, then?"

"You should look for Ella," George agrees. "This is an imposter. Real Ella is never naughty, is she? I can't remember. She said she'd rub my tummy."

"Rub your... tummy?" Jaymi blinks. "Why are you going to rub his tummy?" He directs his question to Ella, confused.

"I thought he was ill," she says. "Before the drinking. But he's not. He's just always naughty and won't tell me why he can't sit down."

George watches as Jaymi opens his mouth, then closes it, realization dawning on his face. "Oh, okay. Did he -- did he tell you why he can't sit down?"

Ella shakes her head. "No, he distracted me with the green one. _Cheeky_."

"Alright." Jaymi sighs, reaching out to pluck Ella's glass from her fingers. "I think that's probably enough for you. I feel like a mum, this is awful." He frowns. "Can you go stay by Jade for a minute? I just need to talk to George about something."

Ella nods. "You're better at talking to George about his cheekiness than I am. I had to look it up on the internet and lie about being over eighteen."

"Oh, god." Jaymi rolls his eyes, but has to laugh. "Just _go_."

"I'm going!" Ella wibbles a little as she slips off her stool, but rights herself soon enough and stands on her tip-toes to peer through the crowd for Jade. "I'm not a baby, you know, you can talk about it in front of me."

George blushes. "I don't want to. You like me and think I'm cute."

"But you _are_ cute," Ella says, confused. "Oh! Found her!" She waves to Jade and then wraps her arms around Jaymi. "You should take care of him. I don't think he takes care of himself sometimes."

"I know," Jaymi agrees sadly, rubbing Ella's back a little. "Toddle off, little Ella. Find mummy Jade and tell her daddy Jaymi's sent you for safekeeping."

"You're not my daddy," Ella mumbles, but she does amble off, remarkably steady for a tipsy person in heels. George has to admire that.

Jaymi raises his eyebrows and shakes his head a little. "Thank fuck for that, given she keeps hanging out with _you_ all hours." He tilts George's head up a little with a gently curved finger beneath George's chin. "How you doing?"

"I'm good." George smiles at him, flushed and drunk and still a little hard. "I can't sit down on these stools."

"Yeah, that's what you said," Jaymi agrees. "Do we need to go sort you out a bit?"

"I think I wanted to get really, really drunk," George muses, thinking about it. "I'm pretty sure I did. I feel really fantastic."

"That's good, I guess, but I don't know you were in the right headspace for drunk."

George giggles and wrinkles his nose. "Headspace. Spacehead. I have space in my head. Between my ears, it is!"

"I guess it could be worse," concludes Jaymi. "You could be a violent drunk."

George shakes his head and wonders whether the room is tilting a bit. He grabs onto Jaymi just in case it is, because Jaymi is very nice and he doesn't want Jaymi to fall.

"George?" Jaymi asks him, gripping George's elbows tightly. "You alright, love? Do you need to get some air, or something?"

George hums equivocally and leans a little more onto Jaymi, who, in George's opinion, smells pretty great because he hasn't smoked since he put the suit on. "Jaymi," he whispers conspiratorially, "I have a thing up my bum and we're in suits."

He can feel Jaymi shake with laughter. "And how is that?" Jaymi says in his ear. "It must have been ages since you've sat down, hasn't it?"

George nods a little miserably. "I tried it, but it didn't work on these chairs. It worked on the movie chairs but I had to leave because Ella was scared. I like Ella."

"Yeah, we all like Ella, she's lovely. Why didn't it work on these chairs?" Jaymi asks curiously, taking a look at the stools.

George frowns, his brow furrowing. "I couldn't sit sideways without falling down and Camilla Parker Bowles was here, so I didn't want to fall down. I tried it but it made me all hard. Not falling down. Or Camilla."

"Well, it's good it wasn't Camilla." Jaymi swallows, and George can feel the bob of it against his neck where he's pressed against Jaymi. "But you don't need to, you know, take it out, or anything?"

"I don't like taking it out in public, I told Louis like you said to," George mumbles. The room's stopped tilting, but it's nice cuddling up on Jaymi, so he's going to stay there.

"Okay, good." Jaymi's voice is low, and smooth, and pretty. George sighs and lifts his fingers to touch Jaymi's throat and see if he can feel the vibrations when he talks. "Erm," says Jaymi. "Is there a reason you're doing that?"

George hums noncommittally. "You're nice, and your voice is nice. You're our lead singer. You should have more fans."

"Thank you. That's sweet of you. I think I like the fans I've got, though." Jaymi smiles, and rubs George's back. "You can be the favorite."

George sighs. "I'd like to be someone's real favorite. Most people who like me, Harry is their real favorite. Even Louis. Especially Louis. That's okay. Harry needs to be his favorite, otherwise it's all just wrong."

"You're my favorite," Jaymi offers carefully, after a few seconds. "I mean, I really like you, a lot, and I know I'm not in One Direction, but does that still count?"

George feels melty again like he did with Ella, and beams up at Jaymi. "I thought Olly's your favorite."

"Olly's different, isn't he? He's not, like, people. You're my favorite out of people." Jaymi wrinkles his nose. "Now I sound like _I've_ been drinking."

George nods seriously. "You should. It's free."

"I don't think there should be two of us, mate," Jaymi declines. "Someone's got to look after you. It might as well be me."

George opens his mouth to protest, but then someone actually famous passes by and in the jostle of surrounding bodyguards, George gets knocked and ends up backed bum-first up against the bar and something _shifts_ and all he knows is that he's hard as iron in his rented tuxedo trousers now and clasping at Jaymi's jacket lapels desperately.

"Shit, are you al -- ah -- oh," Jaymi finishes, his voice gone croaky like there's a lump in his throat. His grip on George has tightened and he has a thigh pressed between his to try and keep him upright, probably, and he looks shocked.

George swallows, and he's not in the floaty headspace he shares with Harry sometimes, but he's pretty drunk, and that's a whole other issue with self-control. There's a long moment where neither of them really seems to know what to do. Jaymi doesn't step back and George isn't sure he wants him to, because the places they're touching all feel warm and tingly.

He licks his lip. When he murmurs, his voice is low and rough. "Can you sort me out?"

"Do you need me to?" Jaymi asks almost over the end of George's sentence, rushing it out like he thinks he'll lose the nerve if he says it slowly.

George nods slowly. "Please?"

Jaymi lets out a low whoosh of air. "Not here," he mumbles, glancing around surreptitiously. "Obviously. We can't make a scene."

George shifts up against Jaymi's thigh anyway and lets the tip of one finger sneak in between the buttons of Jaymi's smart white shirt to touch at his skin. Jaymi has chest hair; neither Louis nor Harry do, although he suspects it's just because they're made to get rid of it. "Soon?"

"Yeah." Jaymi nods, wetting his lips. "I need to make a call first, I think."

George nods, petting at Jaymi's chest.

"Can you stay here for a minute and just, just wait for me right here? Do you want me to get Ella and Jade?"

"I'll be okay," George says softly, pressing his face against the pulse in Jaymi's neck. "I can get another drink, maybe."

"No, don't get another drink," Jaymi says. "Then I can't sort you out because you'll be far too drunk."

George smiles at him. "You care, and it's nice. Okay," he says, nodding.

"Okay." Jaymi tweaks at the fallen front of George's fringe fondly. "Just wait a minute."

George makes a show of leaning against the bar again, folding his hands in front of him and giving Jaymi an expectant look.

Jaymi considers George for a minute. "Do you need to ring Louis or anything, while you're waiting?"

A frown slowly creases George's brow. "Should I?" he asks. "Do you think I should?"

"I think you have to decide for yourself," Jaymi says, and tweaks at George's fringe again. "I'll be back in a minute."

"Okay." George smiles at him again, watching him weave his way through the still growing crowd of people. Does he want to call Louis? Louis did say to let him know if he needs yellow or red, but if Jaymi's taking care of him, he's still green, isn't he?

Or does Jaymi mean that he should call Louis because he'd said he wasn't going to be with anybody but he and Harry? That thought makes George frown again through the drunken haze in his brain. Does this count?

Does _Jaymi_ think it'll count? George tries to follow along the thread in his head, but either arousal or alcohol or both is tripping him up and he can't quite get there. He doesn't want to fuck Jaymi right now, anyway. Maybe. Probably not. He only wants to fuck Louis and he only wants to get fucked by Harry.

George suppresses a moan thinking about it, and decides yes, telling them that would be a very good thing. He pulls out his iPhone and sends them off a text to tell them.

 _hiii gnna gtoff w/ jamyi is ok?_. He squints at the message for a moment and sighs. He's far too drunk to be texting people right now, but he sends it anyway. It looks about right. 

He bites his lip and adds a second. _oi only want to fukci harry and yourouis :))))))))))))))))))))))))))) XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

Yes. That's good. That covers everything.

It's not like he's expecting them to be waiting around for his every word or anything, but he's still a bit miffed when he doesn't get an answer right away. He's really horny and every time he shifts against the bar he feels a tingle all the way to his toes and he really wants to know if he can do this already.

Jaymi comes back and looks surprisingly relieved to find George still waiting at the bar where he'd left him. He grabs George's wrist. "Come on, I've found a deserted loo off the kitchens upstairs."

"Did your phone call go well?" George asks, to be polite. He takes a step and has to pause to shiver before he can take another.

"Yeah, it's fine. Did you talk to Louis?" Jaymi looks over his shoulder as they cross through the crowd, but every step makes George suck in a little breath and shudder.

"I texted them," George says proudly. "They didn't answer, though."

"Do you think it'll be alright?" Jaymi asks. "It's up to you, love. What do you need?"

"I want you to sort me out," George says lowly, his eyes very wide and shiny. "That's what I want. Louis and Harry have each other all the time without me there."

Jaymi's pace slows down for a moment, and he looks back at George again. "This isn't some sort of weird revenge thing, right? I don't much fancy being, like, a weird thing to make them jealous."

"No, no, no, no," George protests. "No, that's not right. I like them just fine and I like they have each other, but I like you, too. Cuddling you is nice."

"I think it'll take a bit more than cuddling to sort you out." Jaymi squeezes George's wrist. "I like you, too."

George smiles and flushes, warmth flooding up through his chest and into his face. The crowd thins as they make their way through it, nobody exactly seeking out Union J members at an event with Prince Charles and Judi Dench and David Craig.

"It's just through here," Jaymi finally says, as they turn a corner into a nearly empty corridor. "You're sure about this?"

George nods and shifts a little from one foot to the other. "I need to sort myself out one way or the other right now if I'm honest, 'cause this is killin' me."

"I bet it has," Jaymi murmurs, pushing open a door and pulling George inside. Deserted was definitely the right word for it. It's dingy and one of the lights flicker a little and George doesn't want to know how long it's been since someone cleaned those urinals. "Must be terrible. How's it feel right now?"

"Good-bad. Badly good?" George guesses, shifting. "It was okay 'til it moved."

"Is it hurting?" Jaymi frowns. "If it's moved and it's hurting, you should really take it out. Or take it out and put it back in right, if you want."

George shifts a little. "I don't have anywhere else to put it. My pockets are too small."

"Imagine meeting Daniel Craig with a buttplug in your pocket." Jaymi laughs, a little nervously. "I'm not sure what you want me to do. You're going to have to tell me."

George just shakes his head and puts his hands on Jaymi's hips, pulling him in close so he can rub up against Jaymi's thigh again. "Just need to sort myself out..."

Jaymi's hands hesitate in their positioning before he finally settles them at the base of George's spine. "You're going to get your suit dirty." His voice is lower now.

"Don't care," George mumbles, because Jaymi is warm and solid and it feels good to just rut up against him, every rock forward sending the plug into a little brushing jolt up against all the right places, this time, inside him.

"Yeah, you do, come on," Jaymi murmurs. "Trousers off, I think."

George bites the shoulder of Jaymi's jacket just because he can, but he leans back, grumbling.

"Don't care," he insists, frowning at Jaymi.

Jaymi just shakes his head and starts undoing the fly of George's pressed black trousers, his hands frustratingly light as they skate over the hard bulge at the front. He eases them down off George's legs and over his shiny black shoes, folds them in half, and drapes them over the top of the cubicle.

"There," he murmurs. "Now no one will ever know, and you won't be embarrassed tomorrow."

"I wouldn't have been embarrassed," George says, though he feels a little embarrassed right now, fully dressed except for his trousers with his skinny chicken legs on full display.

Jaymi kisses George's forehead, and it's only a little bit condescending. "Yes, you would have, and I think you know it, really."

And then Jaymi's trousers are off, too, and folded over George's on the door, and he feels a little better. George undoes the buttons on Jaymi's jacket and shirt and opens them so he can see all of the tattoos.

"Reminds me of Harry," he mutters, and Jaymi kindly seems to pretend not to hear -- or at least not to mind.

"Come here, let's get you sorted," he says instead, coaxing George closer with a hand on his lower back and rubbing his thigh forward in a little circle.

George sobs a little at how good it feels without all the layers of starched fabric between them. They still have their pants on, but that's soft and he can feel Jaymi through them better, how warm he is and a little damp with sweat.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" Jaymi hums a little. "You're so hard, you must've been miserable," he says sympathetically. He lets George grind against him, and presses his face against George's neck.

George nods and hitches Jaymi a little closer still, grasping onto Jaymi's arse to hold him how he needs him.

Jaymi's breath hitches a little, and he hooks an arm around the back of George's neck to keep himself steady. "Just get me how you want me, love," he says into George's ear. "I'm here for you."

George is far gone enough that he can't really think any further than _feels good, feels good_ or _could feel better_.

It's amazing to have a firm body against his own when he wants one there more than anything, especially when the video call with Harry and Louis only made him miss them more. George loves the heat and the rubbing and the sound, he's always loved the sounds that two people getting off together make.

Or three, he thinks absently, and it makes him giggle even though through the desperation of getting off in a loo at the London social event of the autumn.

"What're you laughing at?" Jaymi asks, nudging his leg up a little in a way that makes George's laugh catch in his throat. "Should I be offended?"

"No, 'm'laughing at Harry'n Louis," George mumbles. "You're not funny right now."

"They're not here right now," Jaymi reminds him, his voice gentle. "You've just got me, I'm afraid."

"I like it," George protests, and it strikes him that it's probably an important thing to say. "I like you're here taking care of me."

Jaymi laughs a little under his breath. "I think you'd have anyone at this point, love. You're sloshed, if you hadn't noticed."

"Not sloshed," George argues, but gasps as a tightening of his muscles seems to draw the toy in a little deeper. "Just -- horny."

"And sloshed," Jaymi agrees. He sets one of his hands at George's hip. "Can you, like that?" he asks softly. "Or do you need me to properly touch you?"

George shakes his head. "Don't think I could handle that. Yellow. Oh, you don't know colors."

"Yellow like green-yellow-red?" Jaymi asks to clarify. "I know that. Haven't really used it before, but I get it. Stop or slow down?"

"Just -- stay," George pants, and tightens his hands on Jaymi's hips. "No changing."

"Okay, okay, I can do that." Jaymi doesn't move, letting George dictate the pace. "Is this alright?"

George nods and gulps, riding down low and dirty over Jaymi's thigh.

"Good, 'cause it's really working for me, too," Jaymi mutters, letting out a sigh and pressing his forehead against George's shoulder for a moment. "You're really sexy."

George laughs a little through his nose at that, because Jaymi is silly, but he also feels really excellent and the stupid fucking toy from Louis is pressed just exactly right and he has a good clean vodka buzz going and the startings of a hot, needy coil starting to furl in his belly.

He has to wonder, a little, if he'll ever be able to smell Jaymi without thinking of this, because Jaymi still smells like he always does, sharp like cologne and a little like hairspray and just altogether nice. He almost misses the undertone of smoke on Jaymi's shirt, but it's good all the same. Jaymi curls a hand around the back of George's neck. His grip is tight but not enough to hurt, and his mouth is all damp lips and hot breath against George's collarbone, and it's all warmth and heat and need between them.

"What do you need, George?" Jaymi pants against George's collarbone, his hips starting to buck erratically. "I'm gonna need you to come soon."

"I just," George tries, his head all fuzzy with drink. It's not the same sort of fuzzy he goes when it's Harry and Louis, but it's close enough. "Can you -- I just need," he cuts himself off, frustrated. He doesn't know what he needs, just that he needs it and now. He fumbles and grabs Jaymi's hand, pressing it into his own ribs at the place where one of Harry's bruises is just beginning to fade.

It only takes a moment for Jaymi to understand and press down harder, enough to make it hurt, a low, dull throb that makes George think, _yes, that's what I needed_.

George whimpers as he comes, already wrung out from coming earlier with Harry and Louis (and in the morning's shower), and then the front of his pants are sticky with the dribble of come he still had in him. It's not as good as it is with Harry and Louis, he thinks vaguely, panting against Jaymi's shoulder. But then it never had been.

"Did you --? Oh," Jaymi sighs, his shoulders shuddering. He doesn't make any noise, but he slumps against George and pants a little, so he thinks that means Jaymi's finished as well.

George feels a little less drunk, now that the need to come has abated.

"Alright?" Jaymi mumbles, clearing his throat lightly. He doesn't move far, but he does shuffle backwards a little to give George space.

George nods and lifts his face. "Are you -- like, did you want, erm...?"

"What?" Jaymi asks, frowning a little. He looks all cutely disheveled now, with his curly fringe lopsided and his clothes hanging off him.

George shakes his head. "I don't know. 'M'all messy and I think I need to -- it's hurting, now."

"Do you need to take it out?" Jaymi says. He makes an aborted movement like he's about to reach down and feel for himself, but then his hand drops back to his side. "Can you take it out? Do you have anything with you, slick or anything?"

George shakes his head ruefully, his eyes wide. "I didn't know I'd need any to get it back out again." He shifts and winces a little. "I think it's just. Oversensitive."

"Yeah, probably shouldn't move very much for a little while." Jaymi rubs his shoulder and then reaches past to rip off a bit of toilet roll to clean himself up. "If you can help it."

"Can I stay here?" George asks. "Maybe forever? I'll just live in an abandoned loo with my trousers off, not moving."

"I don't think we can perform from here," says Jaymi doubtfully. "Come on, get yourself cleaned up a bit and we can figure out where to go from there."

George frowns a little, but takes the tissue from Jaymi and starts wiping down the front of his pants. Mostly he ends up getting come all over his jacket cuff, and swears. 

Jaymi laughs gently and takes over gently cleaning George up while George tries to minimize the damage to his jacket.

"Can it be saved?" Jaymi asks, stuffing the bits of toilet roll into the bin behind him. "Are you going to have to walk with one hand tucked in your jacket like Napoleon?"

"I thought he had a Vote Pedro shirt," George mumbles, examining his wrist. Jaymi finishes cleaning George up and throws the tissue in the toilet before taking his own trousers down from the door and shimmying into them.

"Are you going to be able to put yours back on, or do you need to wait a bit?" Jaymi checks the time on his phone. "We've only got about half an hour."

George shifts from one foot to the other. "I... don't know."

Jaymi gives him a sympathetic look. "Do you feel any better, at least? You can try in a few minutes, if you want. No rush."

George nods, more on the sleepy vodka downswing now than the up vodka buzz. "I am better, thanks. Are you alright?"

"I'm great." Jaymi smiles at him, just a quirk of his mouth. "Wasn't about me, though. I'm glad it helped."

George keeps looking intently at the cuff of his jacket, drunken mind trying to make sense of the cufflinks holding the fabric together with a bolt of silver. "I like you," he mumbles.

"I know you do. I'm glad," Jaymi adds. "I like you, too. I like you a lot, obviously. Wouldn't do this for just anyone, would I?"

George shrugs, then murmurs regretfully as everything shifts too much again, any movement more than he's looking for.

"Sure you're alright?" Jaymi asks, setting a hand on George's arm. "D'you mind if I give you a hug? It'll make me feel useful."

George smiles. "I never mind hugs. Just don't like, pick me up and twirl me."

"Nah, it's not a results show." Jaymi winks.

Jaymi carefully wraps his arms around George, keeping all their points of contact above the waist. He still smells like Jaymi. It makes George smile.

"Georgie," Jaymi murmurs, "Anytime you need help with something Louis or Harry's asked you to do, I'm happy get you through it, alright?"

"That's really nice of you to say." George has to swallow as some inidentifiable emotion builds up in his throat. "I -- thank you."

"No need to thank me," Jaymi says cheerfully. "It's my pleasure. Literally."

George laughs, but tries to suppress it as everything moves uncomfortably. "Still, I know you have, you know, things, and this was really, I just want you to know, I appreciate it."

Jaymi smirks. "So eloquent when you're drunk and post-coital. How I envy One Direction."

"Shut up." George pushes at Jaymi's shoulders but there's no force behind it, because, really, he's a bit useless after he's just come and he knows it.

"Are you ready to try your trousers?" Jaymi unfolds them with a flourish and offers them up to George.

"Sure," George says even though he's not sure. He knows Jaymi said there's no rush, but there sort of is, or there's going to be. He takes as deep a breath as he can and slowly begins to put one leg in.

He almost topples over, but Jaymi steadies him with one hand around George's hip, carefully avoiding a bruise that wings his bone. "Steady on, mate."

"I'm alright." There, that's his foot in. Now all he needs to do is get the other foot in, and straighten up. The thought's more daunting than it would be on a normal day, and George has to steel himself.

"One leg at a time, little Georgie," Jaymi encourages. "That's it."

"I'm not a baby," George mutters, but the support is appreciated, actually. He gets his other foot in the leg of his trousers and lets his breath out in a whoosh.

Jaymi zips George up and gives his hip a pat. "There, that wasn't so hard. Or at least it's not hard anymore."

"You're hilarious." George gives him a wry look. "That's one of your two for the day, by the way."

Jaymi just snorts. "Button up and look smart, we've a premiere to return to. You ought to check on Ella, since you got her drunk anyway."

"I didn't do it on purpose!" George protests as he does up the buttons on his shirt. He's pretty sure he's doing them right. Jaymi would tell him if he wasn't. "I can't control her."

"I think if you asked Ella to jump, she'd go straight through the roof before she even asked you how high," Jaymi says, then peeks out of the crack in the cubicle door. "We're still all clear. Let's go."

George follows, straightening his jacket with a frown on his face and trying not to cringe as the toy is jostled inside him. "Is that bad? I don't get your point."

"I'm neutral," Jaymi assures him. "I'm just saying little Ella loves you and it's going to be you who holds her hair back come morning, if you're a proper gentleman."

"I am not a proper gentleman, I don't think. Not considering anything that's happened in the last hour," George muses. "I will do that, though. It was sort of my fault."

"Glad to hear it." Jaymi opens the door to the loo and heads out; George sings the alphabet to himself twice before following so they look less suspicious.

They look suspicious enough already, probably, with his flushed face and Jaymi's wrecked hair. George can't imagine his own hair's anything to write home about, either.

Then again, at least his own hair is supposed to look like a rumpled sex-mess. That's one good thing that comes of looking a little bit like Harry Styles.

He can't move very quickly at all or he thinks he'll keel over and die, so it takes George an age to catch up with Jaymi downstairs, and he feels winded, wheezing as quietly as he can. He can't wait to get back so he can take this thing out. It was fun for a long while but now it's just painful.

There's a light buzz in the interior pocket of his jacket and that makes him jump, then wince, catching the bannister.

A large, meaty hand falls on George's shoulder. "You alright, kid?"

George looks up. Into the face of James Bond himself, steel-blue eyes considering his flushed, rumpled appearance. 

"Yeah," George squeaks. "I'm well, thanks. Erm, good film, sir."

James Actual Bond's lips part to give George a smile with all his shiny white teeth. George can nearly _see himself in them_. "Thanks, I'm glad you enjoyed it. You're from the X Factor, aren't you? One of the groups?"

George squeaks again, nodding. "Yes, sir."

Daniel Craig -- George is meeting Daniel Craig with a massive purple thing up his bum -- gives George a firm nod in return. "Keep your chin up, you've got a great look to you and that'll go far." He tips George a wink.

He walks away to slip his arm around the waist of a gorgeous woman in satin, and George stands frozen on the stairs, winded entirely differently.

Once James Bond, 007, has disappeared, he remembers the buzzing of his mobile in his pocket and pulls it out.

It's from Louis, because of course it is, because George isn't overwhelmed enough right now. He half wants to just shove his phone back into his pocket, but he knows he won't. It's Louis.

_Are you drunk ?? What 's this about jaymie......?_

George lets out a slow breath, contemplating what he's supposed to say. Maybe he should've waited to get a reply before he did anything, but he was going crazy. Surely Louis will understand that he _needed_ it?

 _Yeah a littlebit sorry was rly hard neeeded help ?_ he sends, concentrating on the keys to minimize misspellings.

 _are you hurt ?_ Louis asks right away, and George's heart feels a little tight.

 _Kindof inside need 2 take it out sry_. George shifts his hips a little and has to cough. He really wishes they were back at the hotel.

 _DO IT !!_ Louis writes back almost before George is sure his message has finished sending. _Don't wait for me to tell you if you 're hurt you have to take care of yours elf_

George hates himself a little for how warm he feels at that. _Cant til we get back mb 20min_.

The next message takes a minute to come back. _H says to ask girls if they have loshion and get on that now_

 _Whod bring lotion 2 a james bond premiere?????_ George replies, but he sighs and tries to see if he can find Jade or maybe Lucy, though he doesn't think either is the type to just have lotion handy.

 _girls_ is Louis' reply, and George has to roll his eyes.

 _Dont have anywhere 2 put it when its out_ he sends back quickly, finally seeing a flash of what he's almost positive is Jade's dress through the throng of people.

_pocket?_

Jade does have lotion, actually, though she looks at him funny when he asks for it. She's speaking with someone who looks quite famous, so George leaves her to it and begins navigating through the crowd again. _2 small i think cant rmber how big it is??? Feels huge_.

_It should fit in standrd pockets..... mine all do??_

_Mb it just feels big_ George sends before he sends another text telling Jaymi where he's gone. He really hopes he has enough time to do this and get back down there before someone comes looking for him.

On his way back up the stairs again, because that's going to take at least half the time he has left before the vans collect them, he's stopped by another text message.

_what did Thsi have to do with Jaymie ?_

George feels uncertain, again, because he doesn't want Louis to be upset with him. It's the worst feeling in the world. _Im sry it was 2 much so he helpd me_

There's a longer silence this time, and George isn't sure whether Louis' upset with him or just talking with Harry.

He can't think about it too hard, though, because he already hurts and he can feel an unpleasantness creeping over him. He never wants to go bad-fuzzy again, especially when there's no way at all for Louis or Harry to come help him this time.

Instead, he finishes climbing the stairs, and makes his way down the hall he knows leads to the (hopefully) still empty bathroom.

Finally, Louis writes back. _how did he help you babe_

This gives George pause. What does he call it? It wasn't handjobs, it was just a lot of rubbing, with pants on. Does that have a name? _Let me rub off on him_ , is what he decides.

There's another long silence, and he expected this one.

He can't let himself get worked up about it, because he's on a time constraint, and he needs to get this done before they leave and never tell Jade what he did with her lotion.

By the time Louis texts him back, he's got the stupid thing nearly out and feels absolutely mortified even though no one can see him, and the feeling of slip-sliding around down there has him half-hard again and he isn't pleased about it.

_Did he getoff too ? & was that all ?_

George reads the text message over twice, holding a slippery buttplug between two fingers and panting. 

_yea_

He uses the next long pause from Louis to wipe the excess lotion from the plug and give it a lookover. It's much smaller, really, than it feels when it's inside. It might actually fit in his jacket pocket. He'd put it in his trousers but he's pretty sure the bulge would be visible, and he really doesn't want anyone to ask about it.

If he doesn't put his iPhone into the interior pocket, it actually fits, albeit snugly. As long as nobody gives him a cuddle, it won't be noticeable at all, and a little rush goes through George that he's managed to keep such a secret for the entire event.

His phone buzzes again. _We're not mad but we want 2 talk next time we see u_.

George bites his lip. _i do get to see you again?_

This time, the response is almost immediate. _Of course ! U busy after the show Sat?_

 _don't think so_ , George shrugs even though they can't see him. _not more then usuall X_

 _We'll see u then. U ok now ?_ Louis asks. With the plug out and his trousers up and with time to spare, George feels lovely, if a bit empty.

_Yeah I'm not bad_

George hesitates, then keys in a second message. _I didn;t mean to do wrong, what can I do? X_

The next pause is enough time for George to exit the bathroom again, and he's nearly to the stairs when his phone buzzes. _If ur ok now can u not do that again ?_

George feels a little punched in the chest. _of course I won't! didnt you get my message earlier???_

_It was a little hard to make out babe. Tell us again ?_

George swallows. _I only want you & Harry ?_

There's another bit of waiting where George leans against the bannister because he doesn't want to brave the stairs quite yet.

_Good boy, we like that & we like you !!_

George warms with relief and ducks his head to hide his grin, just in case anyone happens to look up at the stairs and notice that a boy from Union J is standing there a little bow-legged.

Not that they should be paying attention to him at all with James Bond wandering around here somewhere. God, he still can't believe he met Daniel Craig with a buttplug in. He'll have to tell Harry and Louis about that when he sees them.  
For right now, he settles for _I really, really like you too & I 'm sorry :(_

And then Ella is waving him over, not looking nearly so sloppy as before, so he goes and lets her wrap around his waist to help her get to the car.

"Did you enjoy your night?" he asks, keeping her tucked close in the crush of people.

"Mmm," Ella hums, "I had a blue drink with Jade after you left me. You _left_ me and I became a wastrel."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to leave you!" George bites his lip. He actually does feel quite bad about that. "I should've stayed with you. I'm sorry."

"It's okay!" Ella pats his chest and George winces, hoping she won't notice the oddly-shaped bulge in his breast pocket. "I had a nice time. I met, erm, erm, erm, what's his name? The big spy with the blue eyes?"

"James Bond, you mean?" George asks, amused. "Daniel Craig, is that the one?"

"I think so," Ella says, nodding. "He was wearing a suit. That one."

"Everyone's wearing a suit here, I don't know if you've noticed. I'm even wearing a suit." George laughs.

"And you look very pretty," Ella agrees, and pets George's face lightly with fingers that smell of curaçao.

"Thank you. You look very pretty, too, even if you're not wearing a suit. You could wear a suit if you wanted. You'd still be pretty."

Ella smiles and rests her head against his. "Thank you." Then she wrinkles her nose. "You smell funny."

"I know. Er. Loads of people around, bound to rub off." He winces at his own word choice. "I think I'll shower before bed."

Ella frowns. "Do I smell funny?"

"No, you smell lovely. And a little like booze." George grins at her. "But that's mostly my fault."

"A little bit your fault," Ella agrees, then yawns. It scrunches her nose and George has to boop the tip of it with his finger because she's so cute. "I think I like booze, when it's colored. I tried a clear one and that was awful."

"You'll probably like the fruity ones best," George agrees. "I would've got one of those but I was trying to get drunk fast."

Ella frowns. "That ruins the fun. And the fruitiness."

"Maybe it ruins the fun for you, darling." George wrinkles his nose at her. "You look sleepy."

Ella nods. "Watching half a film makes me sleepy."

"I think booze makes you sleepy," George argues gently, laughing.

"I'd be more awake if there were more explosions," Ella replies, stubborn. "Scared to death, but awake."

George drops his head back onto the headrest of the van's backseat and laughs. " _More_ explosions than James Bond? You couldn't even handle the explosions there were! Silly Ella Bear," he murmurs fondly. "Come on, take a little nap on the way home."

"I don't want a nap, I want another one of those blue things," Ella informs him, but she leans her forehead onto his shoulder anyway.

"Another time," George promises. "We'll get properly wasted when we don't have to wake up so early the next day, alright?"

"Promise?" Ella asks, her voice already softer. "I don't imagine I'd be very much fun."

"I think you're always fun." George nuzzles at the side of her head. "You're my best friend."

Ella smiles, and pats George's leg. "You're my best friend, too, George Monkey."

George smiles, and thinks -- yeah, things are alright. The rest of the ride back to the hotel is quiet and calm, with Ella dozing on his shoulder. George does adore her, and it makes him smile when he thinks of having a best friend. Ella's probably the best best friend he could ask for. In the seat in front of theirs, Jaymi's head is bowed as he plays on his iPad, and George thinks faintly that he's a pretty excellent friend to have around, too.

The next day's a rush job, with several of the contestants nursing hangovers that they're still feeling even through Rylan's birthday bash. George loves Rylan, he really does, and he knows how to throw a party like nobody else George has ever met.

He misses Harry and Louis, though. And he knows it's stupid, because it's not going to be ages until he sees them again, but he just wants to be with them and sleep with them and feel safe with them. It's enough of an offputting feeling that he calls it an early night.

It probably doesn't help that they're back at Mahiki, and it's maybe silly that he associates it so much with the pair of them, but he does. And he has this horrible feeling that they might not take him going off to get drunk at the club after he's already used being drunk as a way to get off with someone else that well.

He wouldn't blame them, either. As the week goes on he feels more and more guilty about not being able to control himself better, and about essentially _using_ Jaymi. And Jaymi hasn't been treating him any differently but they haven't gotten to talk much, either, not with how quickly their lives move.

All the same, he really does fucking love Halloween and he has a good time getting dressed up in his bloody surgeon costume and skull mask, and going on the ghost bus tour with most of the younger contestants is a barrel of laughs (and screams, and one time he nearly wets himself, although he doesn't think anyone would blame him).

It's fun, it really is. He has fun, and sometimes he doesn't even think about Harry, or Louis. He's starting to feel obsessive and he doesn't like that. It's easier to throw himself into practicing their song, fine-tuning it, making it perfect. They work on putting more harmonies in, and George just hopes it's enough to make Gary and Nicole happy.

He thinks it will be, he really does. It's a great song, and they have nice production this week again like their Bleeding Love mashup, which is, he figures, the reason they're still in the competition at this point. It's fun, and he has always fancied being a vampire. He'd rather be the Daywalkers kind than the Edward Cullen type, but he does have to admit that his hair suits this costume more.

"Do I look spooky?" he asks JJ, baring his teeth and growling. He has no idea what sort of noise a real vampire would make. Maybe hissing.

"Erm, you look sort of like a cross between Kye and Jimmy Neutron," JJ says thoughtfully.

George's shoulders slump. "So... Scary?" he asks hopefully.

"Mostly cuddly," JJ says apologetically. "I don't know whether you can ever look not-cuddly."

"You should give us a cuddle, then," George insists, opening his arms. He's always in the mood for a cuddle.

JJ rolls his eyes, but relents. He doesn't love cuddling nearly as much as George does, but then again, most people don't. He usually gives in when George hits him with the puppy-eyes, though, and apparently guyliner can't diminish their effectiveness.

"We're gonna do really well, right?" George mumbles. He thinks they're going to, but a little extra reassurance never hurts. "Gonna smash it?"

"Absolutely," JJ confirms, and shimmies George a little just how he likes. "Plus, girls love Twilight. And boy bands. We're the best of both worlds."

"Of course we are." George's smile feels a little more real now. "We're like Hannah Montana."

"That's Selena Gomez, right?" JJ asks.

"How dare you," is George's reply as he leans out of the cuddle. "I can't even look at you right now."

JJ just sighs and moves to smack George's bum lightly. "Go find Ella to be excited about Disney Channel stars with, then. I can't help I'm an old man."

"You're not an old man," George says, because even if JJ's voice is light, he doesn't ever want him to feel self-conscious about something like that. He knows how easy it is to get self-conscious about things if there are teenage girls shouting your insecurities at you all the time. "You're young and gorgeous and amazing."

JJ rolls his eyes, but George can tell he's pleased. 

"And you have by far the best body of us all," George adds. "If we ever did individual nude calendars, yours would be the only one to sell at all."

"That's very sweet of you to say, Georgie," JJ responds. He looks both flattered and bewildered, which is exactly what George was going for.

He gives JJ a broad grin and flits off to text Harry and Louis and to find Ella.

"How does my hair look?" is the first thing Ella says to him, even before 'hello'. "Does it look awful? It does, doesn't it?"

"No, you look like Marge Simpson," George says appreciatively, then quickly adds at Ella's horrified glare, "Like the Bride of Frankenstein? Like that redhead from Mad Men? Like Wilma Flintstone?"

" _Nobody is going to vote for me_ ," Ella nearly wails, throwing her hands up in despair.

George catches her hands and kisses them lightly. "Ella. Think about what you just said. It's silly. It's sillier than when you're drunk."

"If Wilma Flintstone was singing on your television, would you vote for her?" she asks, but she looks a little less panicked.

"If she sang like you, I would," George says honestly. "If Edward Cullen were singing on your telly, would you vote for him?"

Ella giggles a little, then says, quietly like she knows she shouldn't, "I've just seen Josh's makeup, and he might as well be, if I'm honest."

"It was his idea," George says wryly. "He is massively in love with Robert Patterson."

"Pattinson," Ella corrects quickly, and then has to run away down the hall while George gives chase because okay, he may be able to tell apart his Disney Channel heroines, but Ella cares _deeply_ about the Twilight franchise, apparently.

They're up second, tonight, and George is pleased about it. When they're later on the card, it just gives him more time to be nervous and think about all the other talented people in the competition.

He sits backstage with the others and watches Kye perform, and he can't quite work out what the song has to do with Halloween, but it's more fun than last week so he hopes Kye does well.

Then it's their turn to take the stage. George takes a deep breath and thinks about how well their rehearsal went, how good their song is, how great they're going to be. They're good, and everybody's going to love them.

He doesn't even fall off the car, which he did twice in dress rehearsals yesterday because it transpires that pleather trousers are quite slippery. He _knows_ their harmonies are on point. He can only hear five bum notes in the entire song, and they modulate them quickly enough that he hopes no one else notices.

Their comments are pretty much glowing. Nicole calls them _perfection_ , even, and even if she looks a little scary it's still the best compliment in the world, basically. George can hardly keep still to listen to the rest.

He buries his face in Jaymi's neck and smiles against his skin, because _perfection_... you can't get a better review than 'perfection.'

He's still buzzing with it when they go offstage, and he nearly climbs onto Jaymi's back to hug around his neck. "Perfection," he whispers. "We were perfection, did you hear her?"

The camera is on them, so George gives everyone at home a grin and cries, " _Nicole_ is perfection!"

Because really, she is. Anyone with eyes can see that.

He can't stop smiling, tiny hiccups of laughter escaping every now and again because of how happy he is, and how good they did, and how good he _feels_. He thinks back to last week and then shoves the thought away, because he doesn't want this feeling to be tainted at all, this feeling of having done well and accomplishment.

When he gets back to the green room, George is shocked to find Louis chatting amiably with James Arthur, Harry standing by and laughing with the hair team.

"What?" he asks nobody in particular, his pulse skyrocketing again.

Harry seems to hear him and turns, miming a cheer. "Oh my god, it's George Shelley and Union J!"

George doesn't even think about it, untangling himself from the others and nearly throwing himself at Harry for a hug. "Hi," he greets, still in disbelief.

Harry rubs his back beneath the leather jacket. "Hey, you."

"Did I know you were going to be here and forgot somehow?" George already knows that's not true. He's been looking forward to seeing them again all week; he wouldn't have forgotten.

"No, we thought we'd surprise you," Harry admits, "Since, you know, you got a bad surprise last week, we thought this would be a nice one."

"It's a very nice one, yeah." George smiles against Harry's shoulder. "I'm glad you're here," he admits. "Did you watch us?"

"Of course!" Louis says, detaching himself from James to come over and pat George's shoulder. He shakes hands with JJ, Josh, and Jaymi, too, and George is relieved to see that their surprise doesn't seem to be an excuse to confront Jaymi.

"What'd you think?" asks George with the slightest bit of hesitation. He wants an honest opinion, and he thinks he'll be alright if it's negative, but he's not sure. He still doesn't really know what caused his mess last week.

"I thought you killed it out there," Harry says. "They wanted harmonies and you delivered, basically."

George's smile is blinding. "We worked really hard. All of us." He's bouncing a little on his toes because wow, that felt really good. "I'm glad you liked it."

Louis smiles and tugs at the end of George's hair lightly, not enough to muss it up. "Our votes cost thirty-five p like everyone else's, no need to suck up."

"If I was sucking up, I could do a sight better than that." George looks at Louis from under his fringe, smiling a little. "Which you know from experience."

Louis' eyes crinkle at the corners. "Cheeky."

"You like it." George opens his arms impatiently, making grabby motions with his hands. "Can I have a you-did-really-well hug?"

Louis gives the back of George's neck a gentle squeeze and then draws him in for a hug. It isn't long -- because a lot of the crew on the show have very big mouths and very small paychecks, it turns out -- but it settles George's fractious nerves anyway.

"Thank you," George mutters just for Louis to hear, less jittery now. It's probably weird, how settled he can feel just from one hug.

Louis seems to understand, though, and gives George's arm a rub as he pulls back, probably used to comforting Harry -- and hiding that he's comforting Harry -- after performances before. Although it's not so much comfort this week as it is stopping George from buzzing so brightly that he'll light up the Xtra set all on his own.

"Has Ella gone yet?" he asks, unsure of what number she's got. He likes watching her performances, and he knows she's nervous about this one.

"I think she's about to start," JJ says, pointing to the overhead monitor. "Rylan is almost done making Nicole horny, horny, horny."

"And thank god for that," George mumbles. He does love Rylan. It's just exhausting to see him perform. "I think I'm going to watch from the side, anyone want to come with?"

"I will," Jaymi offers.

"I will, too," Harry says, and George bites his lip, wondering whether he wasn't really so forgiven as he'd thought.

He doesn't say that out loud, though, obviously. He just smiles, which is easy because of the rush he can still feel from performing. "Come on, then, I don't want to miss her."

They weave up to the stage, and Harry tells Jaymi in hushed whispers that his voice is _so sick_ and his solos were _fucking wicked, mate, seriously_. It doesn't sound to George like he's plotting murder, at any rate.

It's enough that George is relaxed by the time they reach the monitor bay beside the stage. There's always a sort of bustle there but as long as they stay out of the way, nobody shouts.

"You did nail all your solos, you know, you were brilliant," he tells Jaymi, grinning.

Jaymi grins at him. "Thanks. You nailed looking like a sparklepire."

"Which was what I wanted." George tips his nose into the air. "It's not easy, being this glittery. I had to practice."

A crew member rushes by and shushes George, so neither Jaymi nor Harry can retort. George hides in the wings just out of range of the camera, knuckles tapping at his teeth as he watches Ella. She does look a little nervous, and her hair's still Flintstone-y, but she sounds as flawless as ever. He can't not smile while he's watching her perform. She makes it look effortless.

In the sound from the crowd, no one will notice if he wolf-whistles her, so he does.

Her comments are not as glowing as theirs had been, and George frowns. He can't ever find a thing wrong with Ella's performances, not one thing, so he doesn't understand how any of the judges could. She handles it well and he's proud of her for how well put together she is even in the face of Nicole's comments.

After she comes offstage, he wraps her up in a tight hug and puts his mouth right next to her ear so she can hear him. "Nicole is _not_ perfection."

It makes her laugh a little so he considers it a small victory. "She was right, it was my worst performance," Ella mumbles, leaning her head against George's shoulder.

"You've started thinking that every week," he reminds her gently. "She and Gary are nervous you'll take their own acts down with a scythe; they're gonna try to rattle you. Don't let them."

"Tell me people will still vote for me even though I look like Wilma Flintstone again?" she requests, her arms tightening around him.

"Ella, people would vote for you even if you looked like _Dino_ Flintstone," George promises, and kisses her cheek softly. "I promise."

"Alright, I'll believe you. I'd better not be voted off or I'll stay just to torture you," she warns, finally leaning back and jumping when she sees Harry. "Oh! Hello, when did you get here?"

"Just a while ago," Harry says, and holds out his arms for a congratulatory hug of his own. "You're amazing."

Ella laughs, actually something closer to a giggle. "Harry Styles just told me I'm amazing," she informs him.

"That he did!" Harry agrees, laughing back. "He also thinks you're gorgeous, and wonders whether he should feel threatened by you for George's affections."

Ella laughs outright at that. "I think he'd be more likely attracted to me if I _were_ Dino Flintstone than me."

"Hey," George protests, swatting her shoulder. "Not true. You know I think you're stunning. I tell you all the time. You just never hear me because it's not Harry Styles saying it."

"That's true. It's only a lookalike." Ella winks and wriggles out of Harry's arms to collect her hug from Jaymi on their way back down to the greenroom.

"So we don't have anything to worry about there?" Harry asks, taking his place beside George and swinging an arm around his shoulders as they walk. "No budding romance, or anything? You're in the papers together a lot, you know."

"How about you and every woman over forty in the entire world?" Ella asks back, riding piggyback on Jaymi. "You're in the papers together a lot, you know."

"Touche." Harry rubs George's shoulder lightly. "Don't let Louis hear you mention that; he hates it."

George savors the little touch, knowing it's all he can have until after Xtra. "Are you going to tell her about the naked rule, as well?" he mutters under his breath.

"Do you reckon Ella and Louis will be naked together any time soon?" Harry murmurs back, eyes dancing.

"Crazier things have happened around you two." George has to duck his head lest he smile too widely and give away their conversation to the two in front. "You never know."

Harry laughs and lets his thumb tuck beneath the hem of George's t-shirt, his jacket strewn somewhere in the greenroom so he doesn't overheat just waiting for Xtra. "I can guess with good authority that it's unlikely."

"Well, if you say so, it must be true." George bites the side of his lip as he looks up at Harry. He's missed him, a lot, and he really just wants to be able to kiss him. Later, he reminds himself.

Harry seems to read his mind, though, and pulls him quickly into a dusty cupboard off the corridor to the greenroom, Ella and Jaymi still chattering and playing happily off in front of them.

"Used to have to snog Louis here," Harry whispers, pushing George up against the door and slotting their legs together. "Nobody ever comes looking."

"Do I get a snog, then?" George asks, already hooking an arm around Harry's neck so he can push closer. It's not close enough, but it never is.

"Do you want one?" Harry asks. His huge hands trail down over George's sides so he can tuck them up inside George's t-shirt, hot on George's already-sweaty skin.

"Yes, please." The way he's breathing heavily is probably really unattractive. "I really, really want one. A lot. I want one a lot, but I also want a lot of them."

Harry chuckles and leans in, nuzzling his nose over George's, his lips just out of reach. "But you've had snogs this week."

"Not since Monday," George whines. "Monday _morning_. That's ages."

"Hmmm," Harry equivocates. His mouth is soft as it sketches over George's cheek. "What about Jaymi?"

It's the first time it's been referenced, and George has to fight hard not to tense. "I didn't snog Jaymi," he mumbles, nuzzling up into Harry's neck.

"Louis told me you were having some trouble and he helped you get off," Harry murmurs, rubbing lightly over the faint line of hair leading down George's thin belly. "Did that not happen?"

"No, no -- it did, yeah." George shivers, tipping his head back to look at Harry. "We didn't kiss, though, I just -- basically I just rubbed off on his leg?"

Harry hums thoughtfully again and pushes his own thigh up between George's legs roughly. "And he didn't kiss you at all?"

George is too busy trying not to swallow his own tongue to answer, but he shakes his head in a negative.

"Really?" Harry kisses the soft, ticklish spot just beneath George's ear as he works his thigh in tiny, hitching circles. "Not even like that?"

George's shoulder hitches a little and his eyes flutter closed. "No," he whispers, rocking once against Harry. "No, he didn't."

Harry's soft mouth touches onto George's neck, suckling gently enough not to leave a mark -- for now. "What about this?"

"No." George hums, letting one hand drift to the back of Harry's neck. "Not there, either."

Harry doesn't move to George's mouth like he's expecting -- even pursing his lips a little to invite the next kiss -- but instead Harry's mouth lands on the soft fabric covering George's chest, tongue pushed in to make a tiny wet spot right over George's nipple. "Here?"

"Harry," George says instead of responding, his voice low and pleading. "Harry, please."

Harry only kisses twice down George's front before lifting the hem of his t-shirt and tonguing lightly into George's navel. "What about here? Has anyone kissed you here since we saw you?"

"No, nobody. I only want you. I only want you and Louis, but you weren't there." George swallows hard, his fingers stroking through the softness of the hair at the nape of Harry's neck.

Harry flicks open the button on George's ridiculous Edward Cullen trousers. "And your hands weren't, either?"

"My hands weren't what?" George sounds half-hysterical and he doesn't mean to, but Harry is very close to his cock right now and he's been wanting that basically all the time since Monday.

Harry is hatefully slow as he draws down George's zipper and slides his trousers down just far enough that nothing will catch. "You couldn't just rub one out yourself? Or call us to talk you through it?"

"I didn't think of that." George feels incredibly stupid now, why didn't he do either of those things? Are Harry and Louis actually very angry about it, and they've been waiting to see him in person because he messed up really badly? "I wasn't thinking very clearly; I was drunk."

Harry chuckles and nuzzles against the bulge pushing out the front of George's pants. It isn't nearly enough; the warmth of it is too ghosting to feel more than teasing. "Clearly." His mouth opens over the shape of George's cockhead and he sucks lightly, bringing a nickel of wet onto his pants. "But I get quite jealous, you know."

"You do?" That could be good or bad, and George is really awful at being able to tell things with mouths so close to his dick. "I didn't know that. Did I?"

Harry goes back to his nuzzling and George has to choke back a groan of disappointment. "I don't like anyone making you come but me and Louis, George."

"Nobody else will." George has to wet his lips. "I swear."

Harry rolls only the elastic down on George's pants, exposing the wet, needy tip of George's cock and nothing else. "No matter what we ask you to do?"

"No matter what. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have." George wants to be touched so badly, but he means what he's saying. If Harry and Louis wanted him to not touch himself ever again, he thinks he'd just accept it.

"What if..." Harry trails off just long enough to lave a small lick over the slit. "We asked you to wear the plug again? Could you hold off?"

"Yes." George's breath catches in his throat. "It -- It hurt, after a while. Even then?"

Harry makes a sympathetic noise at that and gives George's cock another little lick, rolling down his pants a bit more. "If it hurts, that's red. And you stop. You take it out."

"Stop and take it out," George repeats with a nod. "Okay. Red and I stop and take it out."

"Good," Harry murmurs. He rolls down George's pants a little more. "I really want to suck you, George, but I don't know I can if you're not going to be only ours."

"I am only yours," says George quietly. His head feels too big but in a good way, like he's on the edge of floating away. "I am, all yours."

Harry gives the shaft of George's prick a long, warm nuzzle with his lips and tongue -- then rolls his pants back up, gives George's bulge a little pat, and carefully zips his trousers back up. "I'm glad to hear it. You did do a bit wrong, though, even though we aren't angry. So you don't get to get off yet."

George thinks he might die. "I -- but -- But, I -- Please?" he concludes, hoping it's enough. He's so hard now he can't see straight.

Harry stands, letting his long body slide up the entire length of George's. He leans in and finally kisses George's mouth, gently, gently. "No."

"I'm sorry," whispers George, looking up into Harry's eyes. "I won't do it again. I promise. Just yours."

Harry settles his hands on George's hips and kisses him again, letting George nudge his tongue into Harry's mouth for a deep, slow kiss this time -- but pulls back when George starts rubbing up against Harry's thigh again, hard cock pushing up against Harry's hip. "I'm really glad, George. But you told us that last week, and then it wasn't true. You don't get to come until we're all at home and you're _really_ only ours for the night. D'you understand?"

It's like a punch in the stomach. "I understand," George says, disappointed but mostly in himself. "You said you're not angry? With me?"

Harry kisses the corner of George's mouth. "I'm not angry with you. But if you don't get consequences, you'll never learn."

"I know. I'm sorry," George says again. "I don't mean to disappoint you. I really don't."

"It's alright, you're still learning," Harry soothes, and strokes his hands over George's chest and belly and arms. "We all make mistakes. Louis made a big one last week, didn't he? You made a little one."

"Can I hug you, still?" George swallows nervously. "Or is that, I don't know, am I not, can I? If I don't deserve it?"

"Of course you can," Harry murmurs, and his hands slide around to George's back so he can haul George closer into a tight hug. George may be older, but Harry is taller and broader and stronger and it makes George feel quite small. And very protected. "This is a little, easy punishment, okay, because I know you're quite sensitive. Are you alright to do the show with Caroline and Olly?"

George nods, but burrows into Harry's chest rather than step back. "Yes. If that's what you want," he adds, breathing in and letting it out on a sigh.

"Of course it is," Harry says cheerfully. He kisses George's nose. "I want you to succeed and make the final and get all the girls screaming for you. So go be cute on Xtra for me."

George smiles at him, and straightens. He's still hard to the point where it's uncomfortable, but without direct stimulation it's easier to ignore. "Will you be watching? Will Louis?"

"Yeah, we'll be watching. And then we'll take you home and you can talk to Louis, and then we'll see what we can do about this." Harry cups a hand over the front of George's trousers and rubs carefully with his thumb, right along the length of George's cock.

George's mouth opens on a quiet moan, and he has to clear his throat to sound at all normal when he speaks. "Punishment. Right. I deserve it. I'm sorry," he says again. He doesn't think he can apologize enough, to Harry and to his own cock.

"It's alright." Harry takes his hand away, and George can breathe a little easier.

He has to ask. "Did Louis get a punishment for last weekend?"

"Yes, he did," Harry says without blinking. "He made a mistake, and needed to be punished. Being the dominant in the relationship doesn't mean he gets a pass when he screws up."

George nods and looks down at his shoes. "Right. Is -- I know he'll want to punish me, too, but if maybe you could just keep it away from my face and my, my wrists? That'd be good?"

" _George_ ," Harry sighs, and sounds tired, "How many times do we have to tell you we're not gonna hit you? You've made it really clear you don't want it; if we did it, that would be assault. Okay? We're not gonna do that. I could kill that romance writer for making people think that's what BDSM is about. We're not gonna make you do anything you _really_ don't want. We might push limits, but not if you're really scared." He cups George's cheek in one hand and considers his face sadly. "I really want you to trust us."

George feels very, well, silly. And insignificant, a little. "I do trust you, I swear I do," he whispers, unable to look down like he wants to with Harry touching him. "It's not that. I just have no idea what I'm doing. And you're going to get tired of that, and you're going to leave. And I don't know what I'm going to do if you leave." 

It feels good to get out, but it doesn't make him feel any less stupid.

Harry just smiles an indulgent little moue at him. "You really still think after a mistake like last week, Lou and I really know what we're doing? We're only eighteen and twenty. We know what we're doing for _us_ , but... we can only know what we're doing for you if you _tell_."

"I never know what I'm supposed to tell you that'll make you happy, though." George worries the inside of his cheek with his teeth, enough that it hurts a bit.

Harry rubs his fingertips lightly behind George's ear like he's a kitten, and it's surprisingly calming. "Whatever makes you happiest is what you say to make us happy. What we really want to do with you is make you feel good."

"You do make me feel good. All the time." George smiles at him. "I'm happiest when I get to see you."

Harry grins at that. "Good. I have to say it's been a highlight of the week for me lately, too. But you have to work on communicating a little better, okay? Or else we can't -- we can still see each other, but you're too receptive to going under and if you aren't communicating, that's not safe. Okay?"

"Okay," George accepts. "I don't -- I don't really know what all of that meant? But I think mostly it was just to talk to you more, maybe?" he guesses. "Sorry I'm so stupid at this."

"You're not stupid," Harry laughs. "Look, you saw how it takes me time to get to the -- the floaty space, when Louis and I play?" George nods. "You don't seem to need that time. That means me and Louis have to really know how you're feeling before we start having sex, because I don't think you're being honest with us during, and that scares me a bit."

"How d'you mean, not honest?" George frowns a little. "I don't try to lie, or anything, how would that work? Am I just doing sex wrong? I'm pretty sure I'm not. I don't understand."

Harry sighs and shakes his head. He pets George some more and George hums, going melty and smiling at Harry just because he really likes him. 

"Maybe Louis can explain it better," Harry decides. "As he's actually quite dominant and I'm more just in-between."

"I can wait, then," says George, nudging Harry's wrist with his nose and then lightly biting him. "For later? I'm coming back to yours, right?" Asking is, by now, a formality.

Harry's eyes are a little dark when George glances up to them, and he thinks maybe he isn't the only one who likes being bitten. That seems fun. "Yeah, 'course."

"You said I need to talk to him, anyway, we can add that on to the end." George gives Harry a last hug. "I need to go or I'll miss Xtra, and they sort of need me to talk fangirls down from hysteria."

Harry grins. "It's an exhausting sport, isn't it?"

"Very exhausting. Don't know how I'll keep my energy up." George breathes in deeply and then lets it out, buzzing a little less and at least gone down to a semi at this point. "Talk to you after?"

"We'll be watching from the wings," Harry promises.

George imagines the flush on his face is obvious, but nobody says anything when he returns to wait with the rest of his group. Jaymi gives him a little curious look, but George can talk to him later, or tomorrow, or something.

They're in top form on Xtra Factor. George keeps thinking about how Harry and Louis are watching and he's going to get to leave with them again, and it's all too easy to keep a smile on his face.

He fidgets and jitters even more than usual because Harry left him so blueballed, but all things said, it isn't that noticeable -- he fidgets a lot normally, too.

He's also a little nervous, because while Harry told him Louis won't really hurt him, Louis is still the person in the world he doesn't want to disappoint the most. He knows he has, even if Harry says they aren't angry. He's not scared of Louis, not really, but he's not really looking forward to being punished more.

The thing is, even though Harry's been the one to punish him now and to accidentally physically hurt him before, their first time, he isn't as intimidating as Louis. Maybe it's because George knows that Harry goes to the soft, floating place, too, and Louis doesn't, but he isn't sure.

It seems like he blinks, and it's over, everyone starting to bustle around again and doing their jobs while the contestants linger to chat to each other about the performances. He doesn't know where to start looking for Louis and Harry, so he stays behind with JJ and Ella to talk to Jahmene for a few minutes.

Eventually, hands land on his shoulders and Louis' mouth his beside George's ear. "Ready to go? D'you need to collect anything at the hotel?"

"Do I?" George leans back automatically, closing his eyes. "Do I need anything? Maybe a change of clothes?"

"I've picked out clothes for you," Louis murmurs.

"I don't need anything, then." George swallows. "Just you," he says under his breath.

Louis squeezes George's shoulders lightly and leads him off towards the back exit of the studio, where fans won't stop them.

It's good that Louis is sort of steering George, because he can just let his feet move in whatever direction Louis wants and his mind can drift off. He does feel safe with Louis. He trusts him.

Louis shepherds George into the car -- a different one this time -- and shuts the door. George can see Harry and Louis conversing, their heads bent close together, just outside his window.

He wants to lean closer to hear if they're talking about him. They probably are. If they wanted him to be part of their conversation, though, they would be talking so that he can hear already, so instead he leans back against the seat and closes his eyes.

When the car door opens, he doesn't peek up at whoever slides in beside him. He'll like whoever it is, after all, and he's -- frankly, a little sleepy, even as glad as he is to be going home with them. He isn't tired enough that he can't play, but closing his eyes feels good all the same.

"Hello there, darling." Louis, then, wrapping an arm around George's shoulders and pulling him in so that their sides press together warm and close. "Tired? You've had a long week, haven't you?"

George nods a little. "Really busy."

Louis makes a cooing sound, stroking the side of George's neck. "Are you very sleepy? I have plans for you, and none of them involve sleeping, I'm afraid."

George smiles, but keeps his eyes shut. He turns his head into the curve of Louis' shoulder and nuzzles a little. "I'm okay."

Warm, dry lips press to George's temple. "Missed you, I did," Louis whispers, beginning to rub small, soothing circles between George's shoulder blades. "Been looking forward to getting to see you. Harry has, too."

George hums and tips his face a little so he can kiss Louis' neck gently, dragging his lips over Louis' skin.

"Harry told me he punished you a bit," Louis says. He moves his thumb over the line of George's jaw, fingertips pressing lightly against his skin. "What did you think of that?"

George shakes his head as best he can while he's still kissing and nipping at Louis' neck. "Didn't like it. But I understand it."

"You're not supposed to like it, that's why it's a punishment," Louis tells him with amusement in his voice. "Do you understand why we have to punish you?"

George nods again with a displeased noise, and begins to sweep his hand very lightly over the length of Louis' thigh, just enough inside to be suggestive. "I was bad."

"You were," Louis confirms, shifting in his seat, but not away from George. "Tell me why you were bad. What did you do wrong?"

George shakes his head. "I got off with Jaymi."

"And why was that wrong for you to do?" Louis asks patiently.

George is quiet at that, though. "Because it made you lose trust in me."

"Because you lied," Louis corrects softly. "You told us last week that you could be with only us. Remember, that's why you got tested? So that we didn't need condoms anymore?"

George stops kissing Louis and pushes his face miserably into Louis' shoulder again. "Do we have to use them again now?"

"Do you want to be with other people?" Louis counters. The way he's stroking George's neck is still gentle, even if he's words lean sharp. "If you can't be with only us, George, you need to tell us now. Be honest with us, please."

"No, I only want you," George mutters. "I told you that, even, I thought. I checked later and you're right, I didn't. But I tried."

"I really want to believe you, George," says Louis after a moment. "But now you've been with somebody else."

"But I didn't touch him," George protests, a little desperately, and he can't seem to pick his head up and _look_ at Louis, so he just clings a little closer. "And I kept my pants on. And -- and I kept your, your, your thing in the whole time. I was thinking about you."

"You were," Louis accepts, kissing George's forehead again. "I know that, and I'm still not angry with you. You did try to ask before you did anything. I can't fault you there."

"But you don't believe me?" George whispers in a tiny voice, still hiding his face in Louis' chest.

"I believe that it's a lot to ask of you, to go from complete freedom to only being able to sleep with two people. It's hard to adjust to." Louis presses his lips to George's hair, and leaves his mouth there as he continues talking. "I don't want to scare you, and I don't want you to think I don't want you anymore because of this, or that Harry doesn't. I just want you to know how things stand, okay?"

"But I really do only want you," George mumbles, "Even if maybe that's a bit sad. I just, I was drunk and really -- someone shoved me and the, it moved and I had so badly to get off and I just, it was sort of him or Ella and I can't, that's not. No."

"Why didn't you get yourself off?" Louis asks. "Why didn't you call one of us to have a bit of a naughty chat? If you could find enough privacy to cop off with someone, I should think you'd be able to have a secret phone conversation."

George feels like a slug. "I wasn't... didn't think of that. And I'd just talked to you, so I didn't..." He shrugs, not sure what he can say.

"And it's not going to happen again?" Louis drops his hand to George's lower back and tucks it up under his shirt. "You need to be very sure about this, George. It's one thing to say you only want us, but if this is going to happen again, I don't know if we can be with you. We need to trust you."

"I'm really, really sure," George says. "I was just having a hard time handling it and I -- I didn't know how to take it out or anything, either."

"Remember when we told you how we need to communicate with each other for this to work?" Louis pauses. "Can you look me in the eye, please?"

George nestles a little closer to Louis, takes a deep breath, and then lifts his face, looking up at Louis from beneath his eyelashes darkened with black kohl and the ridiculous Edward Cullen fringe.

He doesn't know what he's expecting Louis' expression to be, but he just looks calm, and not angry. "Thank you," Louis says quietly. "Tell me how you're feeling right now."

"Really bad," George answers right away. His voice cracks a little, but he doesn't mind.

Louis nods. "But you understand why we need to talk about things like this? So we can work together?"

George's lip twitches. "You really still want to? And like, like you're not going to wait for morning and then tell me you went out the next day and found a new... third, I guess... just to get back at me?"

Louis just looks at him for a moment, almost curious. "When I say we need trust, that goes both ways. We need to trust you to be with only us, and you need to trust that we're going to take care of you, and that we're not going to do anything like that to you."

George hesitates, then nods. "I can try."

"Do you know what I think, George?" Louis says slowly.

George's lips twitch again and he mostly wants to bury his face in Louis' chest again, although there's glitter and mascara all over Louis' neck from him already. It's terribly messy being a sparklepire.

Louis continues when George doesn't respond. "I think that it's very hard for you to trust people, because you've never had someone who can give you the things you need. And I think that's why it's so hard for you to believe that we really do want you. Because sometimes, you don't think anyone really wants you."

It's not something no one's ever said to George before.

And that might be the worst part of all.

"We do, though." Louis doesn't break eye contact with George. "We really do want you. You fit, with us. So I'd really like it if you'd at least understand that we want you here."

George looks down at Louis' knees. "But I don't even know how long I'll be here. Everything is week-to-week for me right now. I don't even know if I'll still be in London by Monday."

"Everything's not exactly set in stone for us, either, you know?" Louis tips George's head back up with a knuckle under his chin. "We never know where we're supposed to be or what we're supposed to be doing. We're all taking it a week at a time."

Louis kisses George's lips so softly and quickly that it's barely a kiss at all. "But that doesn't mean we're just going to stop wanting you. It doesn't work like that."

"But if we get voted off," George says, taking in a deep breath. "If we get voted off, I'll have to leave. And then you won't _have_ me anymore."

"Says who?" Louis asks. "You have a manager. You have half a million Twitter followers. 'S more than we had, I'll tell you that. And... George, you _can't_ go back to your old life after the X Factor, at least not if you've gone as far as you have. Some people can. Like, when they get voted out first or whatever. But you're properly famous. You're in magazines in America. You're not going back to being a coffee shop boy, whatever happens. You can pick what life you want now."

"But what if the life I want is just with you?" George is aware he sounds more than pathetic, and he wouldn't blame Louis for laughing at him. "I don't know what it is, but there's nothing for me like you in Bristol. Nothing like this."

Louis looks a little sad at that, for reasons beyond George's comprehension. "I think you'll find that now your pretty face has been on everyone's telly screen, you'll have people lining up who want to do with you what we do."

"I don't want them. I want you." George shakes his head. "I only want you. You can't -- You can't give me everything I need and then say I can get it anywhere else. I can't. It's just you."

Louis' smile goes a little dark then, his eyes sparkling. "Then don't go running off your bandmates next time you need a helping hand, yeah? If you say it, do it."

"I won't. Well, I will, do it, I mean. I won't, not again. I promise. I can be good. I'll be good for you." George puts his hand back on Louis' thigh.

Then he narrows his eyes. "You do weird brain-magic on me and I'm not sure how I feel about being so slow whenever you're in the room. Or car. Rooms and cars."

Louis looks rather proud of himself. "You're not slow, you're just captivated by my ravishing good looks, probably."

George snorts, but doesn't disagree.

"Come here," Louis whispers, pulling George into a bit of an awkwardly positioned hug. "You're a good boy, I know you are. You're going to be good for us, aren't you?"

George nods. "Yeah, I was just... horny and drunk. Not that that's an excuse."

"It's not," Louis agrees. "George, I don't think you should drink while we're doing play anymore. If I wouldn't let you play drunk, I shouldn't let you get drunk while you play. It's not... it's compromising, and I don't like it. You're too suggestible already." He rubs a fond thumb over the apple of George's cheek. "Okay?"

"Okay." George closes his eyes and sighs. "I don't drink that much, anyway. There's no time. I won't anymore, though, if you don't want me to."

"You can drink," Louis clarifies, sounding a little aghast. "God, I'm not a monster. Just not during play."

"Right, not during play," George agrees. He smiles at Louis. "I won't. If you don't think I should, I trust you."

"I don't think you should," Louis agrees. He leans down and bites the end of George's nose lightly and George giggles. "Because you're the most receptive little mouse I've ever heard of, ever. And being drunk won't help you keep your wits."

"I haven't got any wits, I don't think." George grips Louis's wrist and kisses the inside of his palm. "You -- and Harry, earlier -- you keep saying I'm receptive, or I go under really easily, and I don't really know what that means," he admits. "He said you'd be able to say it better."

Louis smirks a bit. "Only because I can talk eight times faster. Really, we tested it once."

"Not true!" Harry calls from the driver's seat, and George giggles again because it's good to see them happy together. That's never happened with him in the car before, but then again, it's also the first time he's been in this car without having his dick out.

"It is true and you know it is, Harry," Louis says back. "Remember that video Niall showed us, the one where someone sped up one of your interviews so you were talking at normal speed? And the interviewer sounded like a chipmunk."

Harry just harrumphs and glowers at the road, but once Louis lowers his face to kiss the crest of George's forehead, Harry meets George's eyes in the rearview mirror and gives him a little grin.

This is nice. George likes this, being able to watch them being... whatever they are. Sometimes he forgets in all of the wanting that he does that Harry and Louis are a real, proper something. At least, he thinks they are.

It makes him ache as much as it makes him glad, because knowing you like someone more than they like you is just about the worst feeling he knows. He guesses second-worst now, technically, but he isn't entirely convinced that the horrible panic of last week and his -- whatever, unrequited whatever -- for Harry and Louis aren't one and the same.

"You didn't answer my question," he says instead of any of that. No use dwelling on it and making himself more miserable.

Louis shrugs. "That floaty place -- it isn't just something not everyone gets to, it's something quite hard for the people that do, sometimes. It takes Harry ages to get there unless he's been feeling a bit needy all day. 'S'part of why we don't play so often... it'd been months, I think, until we found you. But you go there without even thinking about it."

"Is that bad?" George asks cautiously. Wonderful, another weird thing about him. "I like it, though. Feeling all floaty, or fuzzy, or whatever. It feels good. Like I don't have to think so much about everything."

"It's not bad at all," Louis assures him, and finally gives him a proper kiss, licking just enough into his mouth to tease. "I think it's really sexy. It just makes me work harder to take care of you."

"I like when you take care of me," George whispers, licking his lips. "You make me feel safe."

Louis smiles and nuzzles George's nose. "Good. I hope other things besides just 'safe,' too, but. Safe is good. I'm glad."

"Lots of other things." George smiles, closing his eyes. "Loads of them. I like you. And I like how you make me feel."

"Good. Now that's settled," Louis sighs, and unbuckles George swiftly so he can bear him down against the backseat, George's long legs all bent up against the door so Louis can lie between them, holding his arms down tightly and scraping his teeth over the side of George's neck.

George tries to inhale and exhale at the same time, and nearly chokes. He wrestles it down, though, his hips jerking up against Louis as his head drops back. "Oh," he manages shakily.

Louis laughs softly. "Harry told me how he punished you earlier. Wasn't kind, was he?"

"I deserved it?" George tries, biting his lip. He did deserve it, so it's not really about whether it was kind or not. It was a punishment and it was fair. "It was fair," he repeats aloud.

"That's true," Louis hums. He pushes his thigh up between George's legs.

George hums happily. Finally, pressure. He hopes this isn't all a trick so that Louis can do the same thing Harry did. He so desperately wants to touch and feel and come.

"I know you do," Louis murmurs. "And you've been really good tonight and your performance was lovely... so we can wait to punish you until a bit later, alright?"

George likes the sound of not being punished more now. "Alright," he says agreeably, smiling at Louis. "I've been really good?"

Louis works his thigh just right, and George can feel Louis pushing himself up against George's hip, and it's exactly what he's wanted. "Tonight, yeah. Can you be good for me all the time?"

"Yes, I'll be good for you all the time, I'll be the best." George wants to move his hands, but Louis is still holding them down so that he can't, and he likes that. "All the time."

He _really_ wants to touch Louis, and his arms are struggling up against Louis' grip but Louis doesn't let up at all. He stops kissing and nuzzling at George's neck, though, and meets his eyes. 

George doesn't need to ask this time. "Green, yeah, that's really good."

"Good," Louis murmurs with a smile. He flexes his hands a little, just to show George how tight his grip is. "You're being so good." 

George loves hearing Louis tell him he's done well. It makes him go all flushed with delight and his head feels lighter. It means more coming from him than it does from anyone else.

He doesn't say that, though. Harry's already punished him once and he doesn't want to make him upset again. Although he suspects that if anyone in the world understands wanting Louis Tomlinson's praise, it's probably Harry Styles.

"Do you own any polo necks, George?" Louis says softly as he dips his head to kiss the spot where George's neck slopes into his shoulder.

George tries to think on it, but it takes a minute to call up the words as they start to ease their way through the oozy honey starting to fill his head. "I think so, but maybe just one."

Louis hums. "I want to give you something you can see when you look in the mirror," he murmurs, nuzzling up against George's jaw. "So that you'll remember you're ours with your eyes as well as your body."

George's cock gives a burble of agreement to that and he nods helplessly, pushing up against Louis' thigh. "Yes, please."

"Here?" Louis asks, his thumb pressing lightly into the base of George's neck, above where a shirt would ordinarily cover.

George nods some more and stretches his neck out to give Louis plenty of space. "Please, a dark one?"

Louis laughs, pressing his lips to the corner of George's eye first. "Your wish is my command," he mutters, nosing beneath George's neck to fit his mouth against George's skin.

It's quick and sharp, and it feels like he's using his teeth, _actually_ biting the bruise into George's skin, and George groans low and long and reedy, back arched to struggle against Louis' arms without breaking the hold and push up against the rutting of Louis' cock against his hip.

Louis pulls back long enough to say, "Stay _still_ ," before he gives the forming mark a lick and then continues sucking it into George's skin.

George tries, tensing up his muscles to stay _still_ , stay down, let Louis move him how he wants. He's wanted to come since Harry cornered him in the cupboard and Louis isn't giving him enough friction now even though he _said_ he wouldn't punish him, and a whine comes unbidden from George's mouth as Louis sucks hard at George's neck and then soothes with his tongue, a teasing, unpredictable looping pattern.

"Perfect," Louis says as he sweeps his tongue across the bloom of angry red on George's throat. "That's going to sting tomorrow," he tells George. "You'll be able to feel it, even when you're not touching it."

George smiles, his eyes wide and slow-blinking and shining. He knows he's back into that fuzzy space they keep praising him for, and he smiles. "Thank you."

Louis smiles back, and he kisses George's nose. "I'm not going to kiss your lips anymore right now," he whispers. "But I'd like to kiss you everywhere else."

George nods and nods. "Okay." He pouts a little. "My lips will miss you."

Louis rolls his eyes, but he's smiling. "You're nearly as cheeseball as Harry."

"Nobody's as cheeseball as Harry," George says. He wonders if he's speaking as slowly as Harry normally does, actually. Everything seems to be going slower.

"Hey!" Harry exclaims from the driver's seat again. "I'm even getting lip while he's _under_ , that's not fair."

"You're so easy to make fun of, love, it's inevitable." Louis is grinning widely now. "You're missing out, by the way. He looks gorgeous right now."

"We're nearly home. I had to cut a side-street because there were teenage girls hanging about on the road near the studio."

"Good choice," Louis says, leaning back a little and absently rocking his hips against George. "How many minutes, you reckon?"

"You're probably good for another five minutes," Harry says, and then his voice lowers. "Make him come fast, Lou. I want him as soon as we get home."

George moans a little at that.

Louis laughs when he hears, and the expression on his face when he looks down at George can only be described as predatory. "Not a problem," he assures Harry, his thigh suddenly grinding up against George hard.

George bites his lip hard, trying to keep still like Louis asked.

"I'm going to make you come," Louis tells him, his voice smoky and soft. "I love doing this when we're in the car together. Knowing it's all I'll be able to think about when I'm driving, the look on your face when you come."

George whimpers a little and presses his lips together, watching Louis' face intently.

"D'you know all it takes lately to get me half-hard is _seeing_ this car in the drive?" Louis murmurs. "Remembering how good you fucked me right here in the backseat? Filthy, your fingers in alongside your cock, you're so naughty, George. It's very good."

George wants to close his eyes, but he doesn't dare. He's so hard in his trousers and Louis keeps saying things and it's all so much, he missed this feeling so _much_.

Louis kisses the shell of George's ear and his breath ghosts down George's neck, making him shiver. "Can't you come for me, George? Be really good and come right now?"

And George wants to, he really wants to, wants to so _badly_ to please Louis and be able to come right now, on command like Harry almost can. He wants to be really good like Harry. He closes his eyes and concentrates, nearly shaking.

"That's really good, George, you're trying so hard," Louis praises, and his voice sounds far away even though George can feel lips moving against the side of his face.

He feels lost in it, desperate to come and Louis isn't touching him aside from the thigh still barely pressed against him. George feels like he's floating out of himself, his head just lifting off his body and flying away but it's not enough, he needs more, he's not _good_ enough yet.

"It's okay," Louis whispers. "You're still good. What d'you need, George?"

"I'm sorry," George says, his hips hitching up in tiny movements. "I'm sorry, I'm trying. It's not enough."

"Shhhh," Louis soothes, and drags so slowly against the bulge of George's cock that it makes George cry out, the corners of his eyes all smudged mascara. "Shhhh, you're a good boy."

George is on the edge, buzzing with how close he is and he needs he needs he _needs_ but he doesn't know what he needs, or how to voice it, he just knows that he needs it and Louis can give it to him.

Louis' leg keeps dragging, catching, just undulating pressure right where George wants it and he's _trying_ but it's not enough, and he huffs whimpers as he draws up memories through the white fog, trying to fuel his own orgasm up against Louis' body -- the way it feels to be inside Louis, to be inside Harry, the way Louis' cock feels in his mouth or splattering come on his face. The bruise Louis' sucked into his neck is twinging as his pulse beats hard beneath it.

"Anybody who sees my mark on you is going to know who you belong to," Louis says, his eyes dark, pupils dilated wide. "They're going to know you're all ours, George. All mine."

George pants harder, trying to draw in enough breath, trying to keep still, trying to _come_.

"Everyone will know who made you come last," Louis murmurs, "Everyone will know what a good boy you are."

With a sound that's closer to a sob than anything else, George spills over in his trousers, his eyes squeezing shut as he thinks of everyone knowing he's a good boy for Louis and Harry, looking and seeing the mark Louis' left on him and they'd all know who it came from.

Louis' hands are gentle as they rub over George's belly and sides and chest and arms, bringing him back to himself just enough to sit up and be shuffled out of the car and into Harry's haunted house.

His pants are sticky and uncomfortable and he doesn't want to be wearing them anymore. "I'm a good boy," he tells Louis, pressing his face into Louis' neck. "Sorry I didn't do it right."

"You did really well," Louis corrects him, and George sighs as Louis' hands begin unbuttoning the fly on George's trousers to let him out and clean up. "You're really sexy when you come. Could hardly hold on myself, seeing you."

George smiles, relishing in the praise. Louis is very good at telling him what he needs to hear to send him back into his fuzzy place. He sways a little on his feet, gently touching Louis' shoulder. "You don't have to hold on," he whispers. "I can help you. Can I?"

Louis kisses George's wrist. "Not yet, love. But you will, don't worry."

George likes the sound of that. He likes making Louis feel good. "I will," he repeats, smiling to himself.

He licks his lip and watches as Louis eases George's trousers down over his knees, kissing them lightly as signals that George should lift his feet so the black denim can come all the way off.

George feels much less warm with them off, and sighs in relief. He was burning up a little, and it's nice when he's in the moment, but when he's sticky and coming down it's just prickly and unpleasant.

Louis slips his hand into George's pants and hums as he assesses a soft, thorough feel.

"What do you think?" Harry asks, pressing up against George's back and settling his big hands on George's hips.

Louis gives George a dirty smile. "Someone's made a mess of you, George. We _should_ make you go onstage like this, once. It's enough it's dripping down my wrist; can you imagine going out to sing just like this?"

George _can_ imagine it, all too clearly. They move a lot in their choreography, and he'd have to do it with his pants all damp and sticky and his cock still sensitive to touch. He shivers. "I -- Do you want me to?"

Louis' tongue teases at the soft of George's ear. "Maybe. I haven't decided. Would that be alright with you?"

"Anything you want," George agrees, his eyes closing. He would do anything for Louis, he thinks. Anything he wants.

"No, no, no," Harry murmurs, and then George's pants are being drawn down his legs and Harry's hand replaces Louis' on George's soft cock, teasing it between his fingers while George whimpers. The pad of Harry's thumb feels rough as it drags over the head so soon after coming. "It has to be what _you_ want, too."

George frowns, confused. "I want what you want?" he says. "I want to make you happy."

Harry kisses George's temple and George sighs, letting his head fall back to rest on Harry's shoulder. Even though it twinges and hurts a little, it's nice, Harry's big hand working over his sensitive dick, carefully rolling his balls in his palm.

And then --

"What?" George's head snaps up, eyes wide, staring down at where Louis is doing... _something_ to his dick. "What is -- what are -- what's that?"

Louis smiles and kisses the wing of George's hip bone. "I told you that I'd need to punish you later. This is the punishment. From your reaction, I'm guessing you've never used a cock ring before?"

George's mouth is hanging slack open as his cock fills up again so fast it takes his breath away. He's still wet, and he's still sticky-slick, and Harry's hand stroking over him now is both entirely too much and nowhere near enough.

"No, you haven't," mutters Louis. "It'll keep you hard without letting you come, that's the simple way of putting it."

"But I need to," George squeaks.

"You've already gotten to come once, and Harry and I haven't at all," Louis reasons. "You'll be able to last for us now."

"And," Harry adds lowly, "This will remind you next time you want to come... who lets you. Who gets make you come, George?"

George swallows. The answer comes easily. "You do," he says, his voice wavering in and out.

"That's right." Harry's voice is rough and George can feel him, hard, rutting up against George's arse and he wonders feverishly whether Harry's going to bend him over and fuck him again like this, while he can't even come, because that seems --

It seems like something George isn't going to get, because Harry doesn't bend him over. He just slides his hands up underneath George's shirt to pet his stomach and then lets him go, taking a step back so that all of a sudden nobody is touching George and it's so different to everything he's felt so far that he gasps.

It's so much he has to cover his eyes, and that doesn't even make sense, it just _happens_ , it's just what his brain needs his body to do to keep working at all. He's panting, and the hem of his t-shirt is touching his dick and it's too much and he doesn't know _how_ he's going to get through even more sensation than this, and then it occurs to him that maybe -- maybe he won't get any more. Maybe they're just going to keep him hard all night and not let him come, and they'll get off with each other without him.

He can feel a whine starting in his throat but before it can fully form, there are arms around his shoulders and Louis' voice in his ear. "You're alright," Louis whispers, his breath hot against George's skin. "Shh, we're both here, you're alright."

George pushes the heels of his hands harder into his eyes because even Louis' arms around his shoulders feels so good he could cry.

"You're so sensitive," says Louis as he rubs George's back. He doesn't sound upset, just soothing and sort of nervous. "What's your color, George?"

George just whimpers a little and shakes his head, and then careful hands are lifting his t-shirt away from where it's brushing at him and that's -- better. Someone eases the shirt over his head and the air is cold, but that helps: it braces him back into himself enough to breathe.

"George. _Color_." Louis sounds worried now, and his voice is much firmer.

George tries to think, but it's hard to pull the thoughts up. They're _there_ , he can feel them pushing up at the mire in his brain, but getting them from ideas to words to sounds in his mouth seems like more effort than it's worth, so instead he just focuses on reaching out for Louis and mouthing at the first hand he finds.

"I don't know what to do," Louis says to Harry, his voice frantic and quiet like he doesn't know if George should hear. "Should we take it off? I don't know what happened."

George shakes his head and keeps mouthing on what must be Harry's thumb; Louis sounds like he's not so close.

"George?" Harry sounds calmer than Louis, but he might just be better at acting. "George, you need to use your words. Remember your colors? Green or yellow or red, George?"

George lets the colors roll like a flickering slideshow across the fog in his brain and carefully says the one that feels best. "Green? Yellow. Both."

He hears someone let out a shuddering sigh, but can't tell who. He can't tell much of anything right now.

"Good, that's good, George," Harry murmurs. "Will you be okay with keeping the ring on? You don't have to say out loud if you don't want to talk. I know sometimes when I'm under talking's hard. You can just nod or shake."

Nod or shake. Thoughts are coming a little more easily now, although George still feels like he can see them in the distance through the fog, little glowing beacons of ideas that he needs to reel in with twine and pull close enough to express. Talking helped.

"Talking... is good." George sucks at the tip of Harry's thumb. "Yes, okay."

He feels Harry kiss his neck and it makes him smile, lazily, and tip his head back.

"He's alright," Harry mutters, presumably to Louis. "Are you?"

Slight, cool fingers touch George's jaw and he hums. 

"George," Louis voice asks, "Can you look at me, please? Open up your eyes."

George does because it's Louis asking, blinking slowly in the light. Harry's house really shouldn't be lit as brightly as it is, he doesn't think. It doesn't look haunted at all.

Louis' face seems a little swimmy, so George blinks slowly. That's better.

"What are you feeling, George?"

"Good," George responds immediately. He loves this feeling. He missed it. "So good. Fuzzy floaty place."

"Okay," Louis agrees, and smiles. George likes making Louis smile, so he smiles, too, around the tip of Harry's thumb in his mouth. "How about physically?"

George has to think harder about that. He feels warm, and hard, and a little loopy, but he doesn't think that's physical.

"Hot," he concludes, pressing his tongue underneath the blunt tip of Harry's fingernail. "A lot."

"Okay," Louis says carefully, and holds up his hands. "Hot how? Would it be good or bad if I touch you? Is touching green, yellow, or red?"

It's a strange question, because George always wants Louis to touch him. "Green," he says, smiling at Louis. "Always green."

Louis looks sad at that, though. "It's not always green, George. You can't just always say green, okay?" Then he rests his hand over the flat of George's side, and his thumb caresses a line, and it feels so nice that George has to bite Harry's thumb a little. "I'm glad it's green right now, though. You look so good like this, George, your eyes are so big and your mouth is red and you're so hard. I want you to fuck me, George, can you do that? I want you inside me."

"I -- yes," George decides. He loves fucking Louis, and making Louis happy, and doing things Louis wants him to do. He can't think of a thing he wouldn't do for Louis, so maybe it's not supposed to always be green, but he thinks it always will be, when he feels like this, all golden and melty.

"Good," Harry murmurs in George's ear. "That's really good." He pauses. "D'you wanna suck my cock?"

George moans around Harry's thumb at the thought, nodding enthusiastically. He's wanted that forever, to try and suck Harry off. He doesn't think he could fit him all in his mouth, but he wants to try so, so badly.

"Yeah?" Harry sounds pleased, and it makes George pleased all the way down to his curling toes. "Can I spunk on your face?" He rumbles a low, dark purr and scrapes his teeth along the back of George's shoulder. "You'd look so pretty."

"Yes, please." George licks his lips. He's always thought that was sort of something for dirty porn, but then he remembers that first time with Harry and Louis when Louis had finished on his face and Harry had liked it so much he'd licked it off -- and that seems so long ago, now -- and he wants it a lot. "Yes, you can."

Harry shudders behind him, and George preens that _he_ made Harry do that, just by agreeing to make him happy. He likes this. He wants to feel this good all the time, even though it's hard to think and his cock is already aching while Harry and Louis are still in all their clothes. It makes him feel powerful, to be able to give them pleasure by letting them take it.

"Bedroom this time, I think," Louis says slowly, his fingertips tracing over George's stomach up to his chest and then back down. "We'll need room."

Louis touches George's mouth lightly and George quickly moves to kiss his fingers, which Harry uses as his opportunity to slip his thumb out from between George's lips.

Really, George just wants something in his mouth. He loves sucking on things, and while fingers are lovely, he really wants a cock to suck right now.

"I know," Louis murmurs, and takes George's hands to lead him upstairs. "And Harry's cock is so nice. Come on, follow me upstairs and you can have it, okay?"

That's a fantastic incentive, so George nods, kissing Louis' fingertips before regretfully letting them go to follow him toward the stairs. He hasn't been in Harry's room for a while and he misses it, sort of.

Harry's hands are huge and warm on George's hips, helping to steady him as they climb the seemingly endless staircase.

George is almost out of breath when they reach the top, and the backs of his calves hurt. He probably should be working out more than he actually is. "Your house is big," he mutters, curling his toes against the dark hardwood.

Harry just snickers. "That's not the only big thing I have."

"I know." George is nearly salivating. He's wanted this for _ages_. "I've wanted to blow you for ages. Ages and ages," he tells Harry.

"Is that so?" Harry is slipping his belt out of its loops now, and the sound seems supersonic in the quiet, dim light of his bedroom.

George nods, and has to shift his weight because his cock feels -- he expects it to be leaking, wet on his belly, but it _can't_. "Even before I met you."

This actually makes Harry pause for a moment before he continues removing his belt. " _Oh_?" He sounds delighted. "Really?"

George nods and sucks at his own lower lip, torn between watching Harry undress and watching Louis in the corner of the room, eyes closed as he stretches out his arms. Louis still has all of his clothes on, which George doesn't like, and he isn't looking at George, which he likes even less.

Harry seems to understand, though, and gives George an encouraging smile after his head pops out from his t-shirt. "It's okay, George. Remember, he needs to get himself ready?" He nods towards the bed. "Lie down and wait for me, alright? Head on the pillows."

George does remember that, and it makes him a little nervous to think that Louis might be different when he next speaks to George. He was different with Harry. He wants to make them happy, though, so he does as Harry says and reclines on the bed with his head on the pillows.

The bed smells like Harry and George turns his head toward the pillow and smiles into it.

The mattress shifts, and then there's an expanse of warm skin and soft hair trailing up the length of George's body.

"Don't you have to get yourself ready?" George asks softly, tucking his fingers carefully into Harry's hair. "Last time, you did."

"I'm not submissive with you," Harry reminds him, and kisses George's hip. "And I don't need to stay quite so in control as Louis does."

"Oh. That makes sense." George closes his eyes for what feels like only a moment, relaxing and letting his thoughts drift like he only can when he's like this.

He's aware of Harry's skin, the smell of it and the heat. Harry seems to radiate warmth, and it makes George think of Harry Potter and dragons with little roaring fires inside them and that's -- weirdly apt for Harry, actually, even though why he has a dragon lolloping through the amber fog of his brain right now, he isn't sure. Harry is much nicer than a dragon, he thinks. Although he does also bite.

As if Harry can read George's thoughts, there's a stinging little bite at the top of George's thigh. It makes him inhale quickly, and then exhale on a happy sigh at the lingering twinge.

"The one on your neck is enormous," Harry mutters, his lips still pressed to George's skin. "It's so dark, too. You're going to be able to see it for ages."

George mutter-hums happily, because that's just exactly what he likes.

"I love how much you love it," Harry says quietly like a confession. "I want to mark you up all the time."

George nods, and Harry chuckles in a puff of breath across George's skin before nipping his teeth into George's hip again, just that bit closer to where his cock is confined in the ring.

"Would you like my cock now?" Harry asks, sliding his mouth up George's stomach to leave him another mark. "While Louis finishes getting ready?"

George nods enthusiastically, his mouth already dropping open. He's actually drooling for it, his tongue and lips getting wet with wanting it so badly.

As Harry slips up toward the head of the bed, he somehow manages to touch George's body with every inch of his own, all warm skin and sleek muscle. 

"Not being up myself or anything," Harry says as he cups one of George's cheeks. "But if you choke, don't be too proud to leave off a bit, alright? Say yes or no," he instructs.

"Yes," George says right away. "Or, erm, no? Yes, I won't be too proud." Then he licks his lip again because he wants it so badly that it's almost embarrassing, but he looks up at Harry through his lashes and murmurs, "But I wanna choke on it. I want all of you."

He tries not to be too smug when Harry's mouth drops open a little, his breath visibly hitching. 

"If you want to, you can," Harry tells him. "Don't hurt yourself."

George shakes his head. "I won't. I'm really good at it." Then he pauses, a black blot of clarity zinging into his head with enough laser precision that it cuts through the fog and dims him a little. "Unless you think I'll have to sing tomorrow?"

Harry doesn't reply immediately. "I don't want to take any chances," he finally says. "Don't take more than you can, alright? We'll have other nights where you can choke on it, if you'd like to."

George's face pinches.

Harry bends down and brushes a kiss over George's forehead, soft lips nibbling at the crests of George's cheekbones, trailing down to nearly the corner of his mouth. "You won't have to sing, love. You're brilliant. Everyone loves you, and you're so good."

"I'm so good," George repeats. "So good and everyone loves me." His expression clears a little, and he nudges Harry's jaw with the top of his head. "I want to make you feel good."

Harry makes a low, pleased sound. "I know you do, love. You're so good."

"Can I suck you now?" George asks hopefully, his hand pressing against Harry's stomach, his fingers splayed. "Please? I want to make you feel good."

Harry chuckles, but slings one leg over George's chest. "You said that, love."

"I want it a lot." George's hands drift to the backs of Harry's thighs. "I'm good at this."

Harry's eyes flash, black overtaking the green with a glimmer, and then his cock is huge and pushing lightly at George's soft lips. "Show me."

This, George knows. It's like his mind is clear and fuzzy all at once as he laps his tongue over the head of Harry's cock and then opens his mouth to let him inside.

Harry is rougher with giving it than Louis was, but then, Louis was more enthusiastic when taking it than Harry.

George has always liked it like that, though, to a point. He likes that Harry doesn't act liike it's George's first time doing this because they both know it's not, and George likes the weight of Harry on his tongue, the taste of him, bitter and strong. He flicks his tongue a little and feels victorious at the sound it coaxes from Harry.

There's a creak as Harry's hands brace on the headboard. He twitches his hips just enough to be a wordless question -- is George alright if Harry fucks his mouth?

He's done it before, but Harry's bigger than anyone he's ever sucked. Still, the answer is obvious to George, and he answers by flicking his eyes up to meet Harry's and nodding his head as well as he can without taking Harry's cock out of his mouth.

Harry rewards him with the barest flash of a smile before he pushes into George's mouth, just enough that he can feel it testing at the back of his throat but not far enough to feel really scratchy.

It's amazing, and George has to close his eyes, humming a little and giving Harry's dick a particularly fierce suck in gratitude. He really, really wanted this.

"You can use your hands," Harry mutters, almost too quiet to be heard, but George's fingers fly up to wrap around what Harry refuses to give George's mouth.

He can fit a whole hand's width around the part of Harry not in his mouth, and George is once again astounded by how big Harry really is. They all joke about it, but it's so much more when George can taste it and feel the thick, slightly sticky hardness in his hand.

He hums gratefully again, and Harry's cock spits out salt in appreciation. George's other hand comes to rest on Harry's belly, petting at his impressive abs, feeling the tense and release of them as Harry's hips work.

Harry's not moving quickly, more lazy-rocking into George's mouth than fucking it, but George can still feel the burn at the corners of his lips and the tip of Harry's cock just teasing at the back of his throat, and it's enough.

The mattress dips again and it sways Harry just a bit further into George's throat. His eyes water a little but he clutches at Harry's hip to keep him where he is.

"That's so pretty," Louis murmurs in George's ear. "You're so good. Wish you could see Harry's face right now. "

George wishes, too, because he can't imagine Harry looks anything but amazing while he's getting his cock sucked. Harry looks amazing doing everything. 

Louis' praise does what it always does, makes George feel happy and wonderful and like he's done well. He flushes with the pleasure of it, making a little sound in the back of his throat.

"God -- _fuck_ ," Harry grunts over him, thusting into the little sound to chase at the vibrations.

George can feel the wet run down his face where his eyes are still watering, but he doesn't want Harry to stop, ever. He wants to feel like this forever.

"Don't bite Harry now," Louis murmurs, and then the weight on the bed shifts again.

It boggles George's mind as to why he would ever bite Harry -- in this context, anyway. He loves Harry's cock, and he wouldn't ever want to hurt it.

And then he almost swallows his own tongue.

Louis is slowly, very slowly, sinking down on George's cock. George had somehow missed it when Louis straddled his waist, caught up in the taste and feel of Harry in his mouth, but he can't ignore this, the tightness and heat surrounding his own cock that still can't come. 

He hadn't been paying much attention to his own arousal, too focused on Harry's, but now it all comes rushing back to the front of his mind.

He opens his mouth to catch his breath and Harry's cock slips out on the backslide of a thrust, slicking over George's cheek and nose and closed-tight eye.

Now there's wet on George's cheek and his mouth is wet and all down his chin is wet with spit from sucking Harry so intently, and he's gasping for breath, and he wants to suck on Harry some more to make him feel good but it's too much all at once.

He whimpers --

And then there's another hand, Louis' hand, intertwining with his on Harry's waist, both of them anchoring onto Harry. Louis squeezes George's hand gently, and George feels warm and bright and can't think about anything other than the far-off flashing ideas swimming just out of reach, _safe_ and _good_ and _wanted_ and _yes, yes, yes_ and something else, bigger, that means all of those things but George can't name when he can't think, everything too _tight_ and wet and slick and full to be real.

"So good," Harry whispers, and George hears it through a fog. "You're so good, George, you're doing so well."

Louis squeezes George's hand again. "I've missed you inside me," he murmurs, just loud enough for George to hear as he lets out a sigh. "Feels amazing."

There's wetness leaking down both sides of George's face now as the combination of the burn of Harry's cock in his throat and the excruciating stasis of being ridden while wearing that infernal cock ring starts to edge on too much, too much, too much.

A word, George needs to remember a word and he can't remember it but he knows it's important. He mumbles around Harry's cock, and when Harry pulls out, he says the first thing that comes to mind:

"Yellow," he coughs.

Immediately, they both ease back, Harry's cock out of the reach of George's mouth and Louis sat almost still.

It gives George an opportunity to catch his breath, close his eyes to stop them stinging, drop his head back onto the pillow for a moment to ease the strain in his neck. Yellow's a good word, he decides.

"What d'you need?" Louis asks, squeezing George's hand again. That's nice. He likes that Louis is holding his hand.

"This," he says, because this is all he needs, really, a little break before he can throw himself back into it. He's still throbbing, aching because of the stupid ring, and it's more noticeable without everything else going on.

"What d'you need for us to do, George, to help you?"

"Want to come," George wheezes, shuddering as his cock throbs again, engorged and still buried inside Louis. "So much. It's so much."

"Not yet," Louis murmurs, and rocks a little on George's dick. "Is it too much with us both at once?"

"Only... 'cause the ring." George shakes his head and lifts his lips to kiss the underside of Harry's cock again. "Want it."

"Soon, I promise." Louis strokes the back of George's hand. "What's your color now?"

George just keeps mouthing lightly at whatever of Harry's cock he can reach, whimpering headily.

"George." Louis' voice is stronger, thicker now. "Give me your color."

Harry takes some of the temptation away by scooting back just enough that George can't reach now, not with both of their weight holding him down, anyway, and starting to work his hand over his own cock, knocking George's out of the way.

It's still a moment before George remembers that he needs to speak out loud for Louis to know he's okay. "Green," he sighs, craning his neck to try and reach Harry's cock again. "Green, it's green."

Louis hums thoughtfully, lifting himself up to ride back down hard on George's oversensitive, swollen, desperate cock. George moans, a little strangled, and Louis says, "Harry -- come on his face and then help him through it."

George needs a moment to take that in, and he lifts his eyes to see Harry, one hand gripping the headboard, the other stroking himself, still spit-shiny from George's mouth. His lip is caught beneath his teeth and his eyes wide, and George thinks he's too beautiful to be real.

Harry gives him a breathless, black-eyed smile. "Close your eyes, Georgie."

George obeys, breathing hard with anticipation and exertion, and he wants this so, so much.

Harry's hand is just this side of rough as he thumbs George's mouth open and then there's come splashing over his lip, onto his tongue and teeth and the plain of his cheek and beneath his eye.

A breathy moan punches its way out of George's mouth, his tongue flicking over his lips and swallowing what he can. It's sexier than he remembers, the feeling of warm wet on his face and dripping down his cheekbones and his chin.

"Oh, fuck," Harry whispers above him, and George can feel Harry's thighs quaking and shivering. "Fuck, Lou, he's _gorgeous_."

"Don't clean him up until I can see," Louis commands, still slowly riding George's cock. "I want to see him."

George opens his other eye to see Harry nodding, his cheeks flushed and looking utterly spent, and it's the best way Harry Styles can look.

"I -- I need -- " George stammers, his fingers tightly grasping Harry's hips. "Need to come -- please, I've been good I'll be good, just let me come, please?"

"Not until you make me come," Louis' voice murmurs, silken and dangerous. Harry eases himself off of George's chest and collapses beside him, one hand lazily petting circles and strange, syncopated rhythmic patterns over George's chest and belly.

George can do that, has to do that. He blinks one eye, the other still sticky and warm, and fumbles to get his hand around Louis' cock.

"That's really good, George, there's a good boy," Louis sighs, his head falling back and exposing the length of his neck, the whole of him tanned and compact and gorgeous.

George has no idea how he's managed to be this lucky, the two most beautiful people he's ever seen both willing to have sex with him, but he's grateful. He tightens his grip and strokes in a slow drag up and a quick jerk down.

Louis, probably cognizant of just how hard George really is, isn't riding as hard or quickly as usual, just leisurely rocking over George's hips, keeping him in deep.

It's like George is burning from the inside out, hot in the pit of his stomach and tingling in his fingers and toes, and he needs to come or he thinks he'll die. He quickens his pace on Louis' dick and licks his lips again, able to taste the faint remnants of Harry there.

Harry nuzzles his mouth into George's damp, fallen hair and whispers, "If you palm over the head now, he'll probably come. And we can take care of you."

Well, Harry would know, wouldn't he? George twists his hand up, rubbing his palm over the slickness of Louis' cockhead.

Louis shudders, doubling forward like he's surprised, and bounces hard over George's cock to get the feeling and then -- George's hand his wet, fingers and wrist slick and sticky and dripping onto his forearm.

"That was playing dirty," Louis gasps out, but he sounds more impressed than anything else.

The tight, fluttering squeeze of Louis proves entirely too much for George, and everything is a little dim around the edges like he's looking through tunnel-vision, whispering _please please please please please_ and feeling actually dizzy, like he can't catch his breath.

Louis slips off of him and mumbles, "Shh, we've got you, don't worry, love, we've got you," as he carefully twists and loosens the ring restricting George's cock, sliding it off.

George could sob with relief. He might already be.

It doesn't take much at all, one pass of Louis' hand over him and George is coming, his back arching off the bed and his fingers practically ripping at the sheets.

He makes a rasping, growling scream of a sound that he knows he's never made before, and it hurts his throat more than even Harry's massive cock had, but his vision is darkening in like pinpricks because it's so _good_ , it seems to go on forever and ever, just spurting more come onto his belly and Louis' hands. There's a possibility he actually blacks out, because the next thing he's aware of is a hand rubbing circles on his chest, slow and even. He can't move and doesn't want to, so he just makes a vague questioning sound.

"Breathe," Harry instructs him firmly, one huge hand rubbing at George's sticky ribs. "Breathe, George, you're always about fainting on us."

George gasps in a shuddering inhale, letting it out in a sigh. "Forget," he manages. "Not. Faint?"

Louis kisses George's neck and lets the press of his soft lips measure George's jackrabbit pulse. "Just breathe, love."

George thinks that sounds like a fantastic idea, so he lets his thoughts drift off like they want to, settling into the warm fuzziness like a blanket until his breath evens out.

Harry and Louis are gently nuzzling kisses all over him when he starts to feel more -- alive, is the best word for it, really. Harry's kissed away most of his own come littering George's face, while Louis smudges kisses and bites over the fading bruises that linger on George's chest and hips.

"Sorry," George says in a wisp of a voice. "I'm always a bit useless after, aren't I?"

Louis slides up George's body, carefully avoiding his oversensitive crotch, and presses a kiss to George's lips. They're back to just Louis, George, and Harry now.

George relaxes into it, his lips sore and swollen, but he likes being kissed and Louis isn't being harsh about it.

Louis licks George's lip lightly. "How do you feel now, George?"

"Good." George pushes his mouth against Louis' top lip, sucking on it gently.

Louis grants him another little kiss and then pulls back again, flopping onto his side and nestling his head against George's shoulder. "How did you feel about taking that punishment?"

George considers that for a moment. "I deserved it," he decides, nosing into Louis' hair.

"Okay," Louis agrees, and Harry sets to petting George's hair, carefully untangling the snarls their pillowcase wrent on the back of his head. "But you had to say yellow a few times, what was the difficult part for you? What was too hard?"

It takes George a while to come up with an answer he thinks will satisfy Louis. "Too much," he says softly. "Too much at once. Overwhelming."

Louis nods, and his brow furrows between his eyes. "Okay. What was too much, taking both at once or just the ring or all together?"

"Mostly the ring, I think." George clears his throat, his voice a bit raspy. "I liked it both at once. I like feeling both of you."

Harry rumbles a satisfied hum and kisses the back of George's shoulder. "Is that something you want to try more of, next time?"

"Oh, yes, please," George says, too exhausted to muster up the proper energy. "Please?"

"Alright," Louis assents. He lifts George's limp hand and kisses his fingers. "Thank you for being honest when you needed us to slow down. That was really good."

"Thank you for slowing down." George smiles, his eyes closing. He feels warm and sated and even though he's a little filthy, probably, he doesn't want to move from this spot ever again.

Someone sucks a little kiss into the underside of his chin. He suspects it's Louis; they feel a little stubbly.

"I'm really happy," he states apropos of nothing. He feels like he needs to say it, like they need to know. "Here."

Two arms from two different sides of him wrap around George's chest at that, holding him secure.

It makes him smile, and he doesn't need to open his eyes to see if they are too. This is enough.

The stubbly mouth presses against the side of George's arm again and Louis' voice asks, "D'you need anything, love? Water? Food? Bath? Blankets?"

"Cuddles," George requests.

A warm laugh. "I think we've got you covered, then," Louis says, curling in more so that they've got him properly sandwiched between them.

George feels settled, as he drifts off to sleep. They smashed their performance. Harry and Louis aren't upset with him. He's sated and has bruises to last a week and everything seems... good.

It's still good when he wakes up, slow and comfortable and roasting hot because Harry's nearly sprawled on top of him and there's rather a lot of Harry. George likes that Harry's so tall and broad, normally, but he's sweating something awful.

George pokes at Harry's side, the closest thing Harry Adonis Styles has to a soft bit between his hipbones and ribs. "Harry. You're crushing me."

The lump that is Harry grumbles, his face tucked into George's neck. "I'm comfortable," he grouses.

"That's well and good," George grunts, pushing at Harry's waist, "But I'm melting."

"I'm being your blanket." Harry flops off to George's side with a huff. "You should be grateful."

"I'm _very_ grateful," George assures him. "But I like being able to feel my limbs when I wake up."

Louis' hand slaps out from under the pillow and covers George's face. "No. Morning."

George bites at Louis' hand. "Rude," he mutters, muffled around Louis' fingers.

Louis slips two fingers into George's mouth and presses at his tongue, making him gag a little. "You're rude. Go 'way."

"I don't know what time it is." George looks around for a clock, but gives up after a vague perusal. It's too early to be looking for things.

"Nearly seven," Harry and Louis say as one, and then Louis turns away and folds into a little ball on his side, pillow over his ears.

George looks to Harry, then.

"I'm stuck," he informs George ruefully. "I always wake up at nearly seven unless I'm hungover."

"Useful, I guess." George blinks, aghast at the thought. "What do you _do_ in the morning, with all that time before he gets up?"

Harry hums and stretches. "Work out, usually. Make his breakfast. Read the paper, sometimes I do Grimmy's show." He cuts off at that with a quick glance at Louis. "Sorry, we're still naked. D'you want a proper breakfast this time?"

"Do you know how to make a proper breakfast?" George asks, surprised.

Harry nods. "When we have groceries." Louis bats his hands again and burrows deeper under the pillow, so Harry kisses George's shoulder and gestures that they leave the bedroom so he can sleep.

On their way down the stairs, still naked, Harry picks up where he'd left off. "I do most of the cooking and cleaning. I like making Louis comfortable."

"So you're like a housewife?" George asks, amused. He imagines he'd probably be the same way if he was around Louis more often, and says as much. "I really just want to please him all the time."

Harry smiles, making his cheek dimple. "That's why you fit with us."

"But isn't it..." George trails off a little. "Like, unequal?"

"How do you mean?" Harry asks, raising his eyebrows. "Cause I want to make him happy so much?"

"If you're taking care of him all the time, yeah, and doing all the work while he sleeps and stuff." George shrugs. "It's just not what I pictured, I guess."

Harry shrugs one shoulder in return, his brows drawing together. "He takes care of me, too," he says simply.

George nods, and looks at his feet as he follows Harry into the kitchen. Harry stretches up, long arms and long legs, so he can slap at the top of the doorframe on his way through.

"I wish I could do something," George admits. "If you're like, you two balance each other and help each other, I'm just -- I wish I could do something to help out."

"You do, though." Harry looks legitimately surprised. "I think you sort of ground us, a little. Things can get sort of crazy when you're us, and you're not -- stressful, really."

George laughs a little hollowly. "Oh, yes, some strange boy having panic attacks and fainting all over your bed all the time isn't stressful at all."

"Hush." Harry swats his bum as he bends to get a pan out of one of the cupboards. "Look, it's just like -- Louis and I fell into each other a long time ago, right? And when you've got someone for a long time, sometimes you forget how nice it can be to have someone else." He shrugs. "I'm not explaining this very well."

George has heard that before -- been that before, been the experiment before a boy when back to the person they actually wanted. He nods slowly and keeps looking down. "I get it."

"You know, I really don't think you do," Harry says thoughtfully. He sets his pan down and grips George's shoulders. "Look at me."

George makes himself look up at Harry. His eyelashes are all stuck together and clumpy black from sleeping in last night's eyeliner and mascara.

"You aren't a phase, for us," Harry tells him, his eyes searching George's. "And we're not going to get tired of you. I know that you don't know everything, but I thought you knew enough to know we've got to be really careful about who we let in. And we've let you in a lot more than we'd let in someone we were giving a test-run."

George nods. "I just don't -- well, I'm not used to that, and. I'm in a trial run for everything, aren't I? Being in a band. Being a popstar. Being a -- heartthrob, or whatever. _Your lookalike_ ," he teases, but Harry doesn't laugh. George sighs. "I just don't see what I add well enough to be, like, kept on purpose."

"What does anyone add to any relationship?" Harry asks softly. "We like you."

George hesitates a beat too long.

"What?" Harry asks, and his mouth's turned up at the corner but he doesn't look happy. "Do you not like us?"

George starts shaking his head before Harry's even finished asking. "No, I like you so much, I just... it doesn't seem like liking me would be enough. You have the whole world to choose from."

"And we want you," Harry agrees. "We like you. We trust you. You're good in bed. You're nice to talk to. What else is there?"

George shrugs. He's always wondered that, quite honestly, because he's had those things with people before -- liking and trusting and good sex and good talking -- but it never goes right, really. There has to be something missing, he's always figured, and the common denominator in his failed relationships has been himself.

Harry lifts George's chin gently. He gives George a little half-smile before speaking.

"There's no x-factor for relationships, George. There's not basically a magic ingredient that only some people have."

"You keep doing that," George mutters. "I'm starting to think you actually can read minds."

Harry winks. "Just another thing we do not have in common. This time, I'll tell the media about it."

"I'm very frightened of the media," says George. "They keep telling me who I'm dating, and I'm really surprised every time."

"Did you know that I apparently dated Emily Atack, whom I've never met?" Harry asks. "And, I guess, one of Taylor Swift's new heartbreak songs is about me. Which is odd, since as far as I know I've not broken her heart."

"You could have, without knowing," George suggests, smiling faintly. "You've got that sort of face, a heartbreaking face."

"That is _verbatim_ what Louis said," Harry says, eyebrows raised. "Are you sure _you_ can't read minds?"

George gives him a very serious look. "You've discovered my only secret. Now you must die."

"Fine, but you have to clean up after Louis."

"I guess you can live," George decides after reconsidering his options.

Harry ruffles George's hair, then wrinkles his nose when his hand comes away waxy. "Eurgh." He washes it in the sink, then looks over his shoulder. "Did you want to help me make breakfast?"

"Not sure how much I'll be able to help, unless you want me to make coffee," George offers. "I'm really, really good at making coffee."

Harry smiles. "I'm not, so you can show me that and I'll teach you breakfast things."

"That sounds amazing." George wishes he was being sarcastic, sort of, because then maybe his life wouldn't sound so sad. “It’s really fun, I promise.”

Harry laughs fondly and crosses behind George on his way to the fridge, stopping to tweak George's bum lightly. "If you say it's fun, I'll believe you."

By the time Louis comes downstairs, the kitchen is full of the smell of coffee and vanilla, eggs and bacon and sausage; there's a pitcher of orange juice on the table, and George is on his knees in front of Harry.

Louis pauses in the doorway and surveys the scene in front of him. "I think you've come up with actual incentive for me to wake up early," he says incredulously. "This isn't fair, Harry."

George looks up at Harry with sparkling eyes as Harry gives Louis a slow, sleepy smile. 

"I told you morning could be nice."

Louis and Harry kiss sweet and syrupy over George's head.

"You might have a point," Louis agrees in a murmur, one hand settled on George's head, stroking through his gunked up hair. "We'll need to get you showered before you go back to the hotel." His voice lowers. "You smell like our spunk."

George snorts while still working over Harry's cock, which is a strange sensation for the both of them. It must work, though, because then George is kneeling on the floor with a mouthful of even more spunk while Harry clings to the countertop, laughing.

Their naked breakfast isn't as leisurely as it could be, since George has to run upstairs and shower; when he comes back downstairs again, Louis is lying face-down on the sofa and looking sweaty and pretty while a flushed Harry pulls a jumper over his head.

"Aw," George grumbles, "I missed it."

"There'll be more tonight," Harry mutters, ruffling George's hair to a more artful mess. "We have to return you to the hotel, and then we forgot we have a call-in with Simon because 'Little Things' comes out tomorrow."

"Does it?" George asks, a smile blooming on his face. "That's your new single, right? The one Ed Sheeran wrote?" He moves an annoying bit of his fringe off his forehead. "I can't wait to hear it!"

Harry smiles, kisses George's forehead, and chivvies him off to the car. There's no funny business today, and no time to stop for another latte (which always makes George a little sad) but when they pull up about a block away from the Corinthia's back entrance, Harry leans over and kisses George.

"We can't see you 'til after the show today, but come over when you're finished? We can send a cab."

George nods, eyes sparkling, and kisses Harry again quickly before darting out of the car.

The morning rehearsals of "Without You" are fun and sound good, although he really doesn't see what this song has to do with Halloween. He'd sort of _rather_ do "Ghostbusters." Their costumes aren't very Halloween-y, either, which is regrettable. He wanted at least a little fake blood.

He's confident, though. Things are all going right today.

Before he gets his makeup put on for the real show, he can tell there are people looking at his lovebite. He'd thought about wearing his one polo neck today, but he's getting makeup on anyway and besides, he sort of wants people to see it. To wonder.

Of course, the other boys don't have to wonder, and JJ whistles when they get a minute to breathe in the chaos.

"Did one of them just gnaw on your neck for an hour?" he mutters, leaning his head close to George. "That thing is _massive_."

George just bites his lip and smiles.

When Kye walks past, he does an actual real-life double-take.

"Wow," he says appreciatively. "Did you get attacked by an angry Hoover?"

"Something like that." George knows the grin he's got on his face might seem out of place, but he can't be bothered to tone it down. He is happy that people are noticing. He belongs to Louis and he's made that obvious now.

Obvious enough, apparently, that when he walks out of the make-up room and startles to a stop at the sight of Harry, Louis, and the rest of One Direction milling about in the greenroom, he gets a congratulatory clap on the back from -- someone.

Louis turns to George from where he's talking to Zayn and James Arthur again, and he smiles but there's a tightness between his eyes that George doesn't like.

George edges his way over to him. "I didn't think you were coming 'til after!"

"We weren't, but our plans sort of changed -- have you got a minute?" Louis asks him, straightforward and he's not really smiling and it's not at all like Louis.

"Yes," he says, because he'll always have a minute for whatever Louis wants. Even if that thing is bad, like it is now, George thinks.

Louis gives his head a quick shake and chances patting George's cheek. "It's nothing -- _you didn't do anything_ , alright, just. Erm, actually, if you wanted to grab your band, too?"

"I can do that." George is a little more relaxed now that he knows it's not, well, he can't even really think it to himself, and he thinks that might be telling. He searches around for Josh and Jaymi and JJ and has to hold on to JJ's hand because he's confused and a little bit frightened.

JJ is always very steady, though. Soothing. George can sort of see why he'd be good around horses, as silly as that makes him feel.

Union J furtively follow Harry and Louis into one of the PA's offices alongside the greenroom, and Harry wedges the door shut with a chair.

"Can you tell us what's going on now?" asks Josh, and George is grateful, in a way, because he doesn't think he'd be so very good at talking right now.

Louis doesn't take the bait, and instead just looks up at Josh with a sad, pinched mouth.

"You're going in the bottom two."

There's a very long moment of silence then, before the other three all start trying to talk at once, questions and confusion. George doesn't say anything, though, just stares at Louis. 

"But we did really well," he says quietly. "You said we did really well."

Harry nods. "You did. Erm, but the X Factor is part of a business, right? And basically, the -- Louis Walsh wasn't lying to you when he said Simon feels a bit threatened? So we have our single coming out tomorrow and 'Live While We're Young' isn't doing too well in the charts, and just... Simon has his groups from the US now, and he's trying to protect his interests."

"I don't think you'll go out, though," Louis says quickly. "Because the judges love you, and you're great, and you're the most popular contestants this year, but. Just... we wanted you to be prepared to smash it out there."

"You're saying it actually is fixed." Josh sounds angry and George doesn't really blame him. He can feel a spark of petulant anger in his own chest. They deserve this just as much as anyone else does. "It's not -- why are we even here, then? What's it matter if it's already fixed who can go or stay?"

"It's not... it's a business transaction," Louis tries, "And I think ultimately you're better for business than the other acts, but today... maybe not. It's fucking unfair but that's... being a popstar."

"You're really lucky, that you can think of it like a business transaction," says Jaymi quietly. "Is that all it is, for you? Because this is sort of our lives."

"Just go out there and do well enough that they have to choose you," Harry says sadly. "JLS was in the bottom two. They've done well, and you're already more popular than them or we were while on the show. You're gonna smash it, but -- you like, really have to."

George lets out a whoosh of air, rubbing his head. His giddy-happy feeling is gone now, but that's to be expected. "I was having a really good day," he gripes, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes.

Harry and Louis give each other a fleeting look, and then Harry mutters _fuck it_ and gathers George up into his arms in a tight hug.

"You're gonna be fine. Look, we're -- I've talked to Tulisa, alright? We don't know Gary or Nicole, but Nicole loved you last night and as long as you aren't against one of Gary's acts... then that's a majority, right, because Louis Walsh will back you. You're gonna be fine."

George hooks his arms over Harry's shoulders, closing his eyes and just breathing for a moment. "We're gonna be fine," he repeats softly. He hesitates, thinking of the others behind him, knowing they can see this. "Can you tell me how good we did, again?"

Harry's mouth is light as it brushes George's ear. "You were really good, George." He lifts his head and speaks louder. "You were all really good. You're a good boy band. Just -- you've rehearsed, haven't you?"

"Yeah." They've got a Pink song to sing, if they need to, and they'd hoped they wouldn't ever have to use it. "Yeah, we have. We'll be good. We'll be great."

"Harry?" Louis asks quietly, "We're gonna start looking suspicious -- can you take the J's out and talk to them a little in the greenroom, as I want a minute with George?"

George feels equally nervous and comforted by the thought of Louis wanting to talk to him alone, as Harry murmurs in agreement and removes the chair from under the door. The others leave with him, though Josh still looks sulky and Jaymi gives George a long, considering look before he closes the door behind him.

Once they're gone, Louis holds out his arms plaintively, and George gratefully snuggles into them.

Louis slips his fingers onto George's skin beneath the back of his t-shirt. "I just wanted to make sure you really understand that you did nothing wrong. You were amazing, really, totally wicked, and no one disappointed in you."

"I don't like making you disappointed in me," George mutters. "It's my least favorite feeling, I think. I haven't disappointed you?"

He can feel Louis shake his head around where George is nestling his face in Louis' neck. "Not at all, George. Other people have today, but that's my issue with them, not you."

"I was having the best day." George sighs and chances a kiss to Louis' neck. "Really, really good. I wish this didn't happen."

Louis sounds a little angry for reasons George can't begin to identify when he says, "Yeah, me too."

George takes a deep breath, and lets it out slowly. "I should probably be with the J's now," he mumbles. "We should be a group if we're going to need to -- well. I think I should probably be with them right now," he concludes.

When he looks up at Louis, Louis is smiling, which George didn't expect.

"I'm really glad," Louis says, and gives George a little fond rub-down. "I'm glad you're feeling more like a group now."

Bizarrely, it's this which puts a smile on George's face. "It's been better," he says. "The longer we're together, it feels more like having, er, having friends."

Louis' eyes sparkle at that and crinkle in the corners. "Good, good. They're not gonna let you down, George. Whatever happens today. Alright? And whatever happens, too, you did not let anyone down yourself. You didn't."

George nods, biting his lip. "Can I still see you after?"

"Of course!" Louis says, like it should have been obvious.

"Can I talk you into a kiss for luck?" George tries next, giving Louis a wobbly smile.

Louis smirks a bit. "I'd be insulted if you didn't."

George sets his hands on Louis' chest, ducking his head to look at him beneath his eyelashes. It's really his only 'move' and if that doesn't work, he's sort of out of lluck when it comes to flirting. "Would you kiss me, please?" he asks softly.

Louis' mouth is soft and comforting, stubble just barely rough against George's face, as he kisses him slow and deep and gentle, just one bite to George's lower lip that he immediately soothes with his murmuring lips.

It's so nice that George doesn't want to stop, because he really doesn't get to kiss Louis that often, and he doesn't think that's fair when Louis is so very good at it. He leans his forehead against Louis' when the kiss finally breaks, and leaves his eyes closed for a moment.

"You're gonna smash it," Louis says gently. "Not because I'm telling you to, let's be clear. You're gonna smash it because you're great."

"What if we don't?" George whispers, allowing himself that moment of uncertainty. "What if I can't stay? What then?"

"Then they'll have a hell of a time cooking the books when they release voting numbers," Louis says bitterly. "And you'll stay in London with your boys and get a record deal anyway. You'll be fine."

"I'll be fine." George swallows, steeling himself and straightening to stand as tall as he can. "Right, we'll be fine. Good, great."

Louis nods, a little subdued, and gives George's bum a pat. "Go kill 'em."

"We'll smash it." George brushes his hands over his thighs, darting in for one more quick kiss. "And then I'll come back to yours and it'll be lovely."

Louis smiles for real then, all crinkled eyes and white teeth, and pats George's bum again just for good measure as he sends him on his way up to the stage.

The others are still subdued when George joins them, and he leans his head against JJ's shoulder. "Alright?" he asks in a mumble. He's suddenly exhausted again, and he wants the night to be over but he also wants this morning to just play out over and over again.

JJ shakes his head. "I don't understand how this has happened. And it's my last chance, really. I'm old."

"You're not old, and we're going to be amazing. We're going to be really good." George bites his shoulder. "Really, really good."

JJ tries to nod, but it looks a little more like a strange dance move. George gives JJ a comforting hug, and then the production crew comes down and chivvies them all to the stage for "Without You."

It goes pretty well considering none of their hearts are really in it. If the X Factos has taught George anything, it's how to put on a smile even if he doesn't feel like smiling. Jaymi aces all of his solo parts with a fire George hasn't ever seen, and he thinks Jaymi feels like he's got something to prove.

Even though they know it's coming, waiting... and waiting... and waiting for their names to be called seems to take a lifetime and is the worst, worst, worst feeling. Seeing acts they _know_ they performed better than get called before them fills George with fire -- they're going to do this sing-off, and they are going to smash it, and they will earn their place in Simon Cowell's pantheon whether he wants them or not.

They're performing before Jade, and George likes Jade, and knows she really wants this, too, but there's no way anybody wants it more than he does. More than they do, he thinks, as he grabs Jaymi's hand for a moment.

Even though he expected it, even though he knew it was coming, and -- and even before that, he's never _really_ believed they would win, what with Ella and Jahmene and James in the show and, well, George being George, he still feels his eyes prickling with tears as they cling to each other and wait for the judges' decisions.

He can feel Jaymi shaking next to him, and wishes he could do something other than stand there with his arm around him, uselessly, knowing that this is just like the last time the others had to do this and last time it was a no. Last time, they weren't good enough.

Louis backs them, of course. And Tulisa backs Jade, but she looks apologetic and George gives her a tiny nod.

Nicole talks for an age, it seems, and she loved them last night, but it's all noise what she says except for when she puts them through over Jade.

That's two. That's two.

Come on, Gary, George thinks desperately, you've been in a boy band, please please pleasepleaseplease --

"I just wonder, whether I want this for you more than you want it," Gary says to Jade, and when Dermot prompts him, he -- sends Jade home.

George feels like a bomb's gone off. 

They're through.

They're through.

They're _through_ , and for them -- for them -- for them, nothing is over.

He nearly crumples into a hug with the others, his eyes clenched shut so that he doesn't cry and make everything unnecessarily emotional -- or more than it is, anyway.

Jaymi kisses his cheek and JJ is sobbing and Josh buries his mouth into George's hair as he chants _thank you, thank you, jesus fuck_ and George almost has to laugh because it's _okay_.

They watch Jade's video package and George wants to be sad for her but it's hard when he's so happy that it's not over. He's not going home. He can stay here with his band and he can see Harry and Louis still and everything is going to be fine.

When they get to stagger off the stage, before he can even find his way to Harry and Louis, Ella rushes into his arms and clings to him.

"Don't do that to me ever again!" She sounds utterly shaken to the core.

"Wasn't exactly my choice." George's words sound croaky and he clears his throat. "I can't feel my legs. That was terrifying."

Ella just holds him tighter. "Never again. You are not allowed to leave me."

George shushes her and leans his cheek on top of her head, probably messing up her hair and his own makeup, but he doesn't care. "I'll try not to, don't worry," he promises.

Ella just clings to his waist, hugging him, and George rubs her back. It's strange to be the one doing the comforting again, since it's been the other way around wherever he's been concerned for the last month.

"It's alright, I'm still here." He tries to think of things that won't make her cry. "You look really nice," he attempts.

"Oh, stop with your false flattery," Ella laughs wetly. "You can't cheer up every girl just by telling her she looks nice."

"I don't want to cheer up every girl, just you." George is actually rather proud of that one.

Ella isn't, if the flat look she levels him with is any indication, but she snuggles into him a little more all the same and George keeps holding her until the last minute before she has to go on set for Xtra.

George takes that moment to lean back against a wall and breathe, staring at his shaking hands. He's fine. They were good. They smashed it. He's still here.

Xtra goes well, or as well as it can when they're all a little shaken, still. They do play off of each other well, though, and that makes the time go faster.

Harry and Louis are talking off to the side, behind the cameras when they finish, and George makes his way toward them after he assures himself that the other boys are doing alright and he doesn't need to give anyone an emergency cuddle.

Harry and Louis immediately enfold George into their arms.

"Are you alright?" Louis murmurs in his ear as he strokes George's back.

"Don't feel bad-fuzzy, do you?" Harry checks, mussing George's hair as he scratches behind his ears.

"No." George checks, and he feels sad, and determined, but his mind is firmly locked into place where it ordinarily is and he doesn't feel like dying, so he thinks he's alright. "No, I'm okay. Bit nervous for next week, now, but." He shrugs.

They both press kisses onto the closest bits of him they can find. "Good."

"Hey, George," Josh calls, looking up from where he's still got an arm around JJ, comforting and protective. "We're going to get a drink, d'you want one?"

He doesn't sound mocking, or like he's angry with George, or even anything but inquiring. It's unexpectedly nice, and George smiles at him. "Yeah, that sounds great."

He looks quickly to Harry and Louis. "Is that alright?"

They exchange one of those looks that they're so fond of. "You should be with your band," Harry says decisively. "You've all had a bit of a shake-up, it's only natural."

George pauses and shifts from one foot to the other. "D'you want to come along?"

Harry looks very pleasantly surprised, while Louis just looks amused. "Do you not want to be alone?" Harry asks, giving Louis a hopeful look. "It's been ages since we went for a drink, Lou."

"Yeah, because last time we did I slagged off The Wanted in public and then fell over," Louis snorts. Harry smiles fondly, but gives puppy-eyes like the best of them. Louis shrugs. "Never turn down free booze."

George beams and turns back to Josh. "Is it alright if they come?" he asks, jerking a thumb over his shoulder toward Harry and Louis. "I've tried getting rid of them," he says in mock despair. "But they won't leave me alone."

Josh looks a little iffy, but Harry just smiles and says, "We're really good at post-traumatic X Factor drinking."

It's not really surprising when Josh backs down. Harry's the most charming person George has ever met. "Yeah, alright," Josh accepts.

They don't go to the Corinthia's bar, just because it became the fans' favorite place to be on the lookout for them, and the addition of Harry and Louis makes secrecy even more of a priority. Instead, they all pile into a cab and Louis directs the unamused driver to a tiny hole in the wall that looks as though they may get salmonella just from seeing the place, but Harry assures them that as long as you don't get anything on tap, it's quite nice.

George isn't sure how affectionate he's supposed to be, with other people around. When he's with Harry and Louis, ordinarily they're either in public or they're alone, but now they're sort of -- both. He settles for leaving a hand on Louis' leg when they sit down.

Louis gives him a smile and gently squeezes George's wrist, so he takes that as being alright.

"So." Jaymi's the one who speaks, staring at his hands resting on the table. His fingers are twisting together and he's sort of frowning. "Next week's going to be hard."

"All the rest will be hard," Harry says sympathetically. "You're past the top ten. I think... I don't think anything quite so, erm, fix-y will happen to you again, but I don't really know, basically. I think Lucy being gone fucked things."

"I don't think any of us have really spoken to her recently." George frowns. "There's a bit of bad energy 'round her in the hotel, actually, a lot of people aren't happy she got a pass."

"That happened for Diana in series five," Louis says thoughtfully. "I hope she isn't another Frankie. That was such a shame. He seemed like a good lad." Everyone gives him an incredulous look, and Louis bristles a little. "Seemed!"

"What about him seemed at all good?" Josh asks with raised eyebrows. "He couldn't even sing!"

Louis opens his mouth, but is spared coming up with a ridiculous retort by the arrival of JJ bearing six shotglasses and a bottle of tequila.

"He didn't believe I was overage," he states as he sits down, disbelief in his voice. "The oldest person here and I had to show him my proof of age card. Ridiculous."

"Wish I looked young," Jaymi and Louis say together, while both Harry and George sigh, "I _always_ have to show my card."

Josh just snorts and says, "I'm surprised a dump like this even cares whether you're overage. Good on them, I guess."

Harry places his elbows on the table and his chin in his hands, giving Josh a very intense look. "How old are you, then, Josh? It is Josh, right?"

"Yeah, Josh. I'm twenty," he says. "364 days older than George, actually."

"I'm the youngest one everywhere I go!" Harry grumbles, something perilously close to a pout on his face. "This is ridiculous. I'm going to start hanging out with seventeen-year-olds."

"I thought you only went for the over-30 crowd," Josh says, leaning his elbow on the table right across from Harry: a casualness stand-off.

Louis makes a quiet affronted noise, but doesn't say anything. George thinks Harry might've stepped on his foot. 

"My tastes are pretty varied, actually," Harry says breezily. "Like everyone's. I like people."

Josh looks, quietly, like this may be an idea he hasn't really considered before.

"Not me," Jaymi says loudly, pulling the shotglass out from his teeth. "I only like a strong-eyebrowed man."

"Is that so?" Louis sort of zeroes in on Jaymi, eyes narrowing but a smile on his face. "Never anybody else? Ever? What is it about the eyebrows?"

"They're the window to the soul," Jaymi says grandly, spreading his arms. "Another tequila, Jamiejames-JJ."

"I thought that was eyes," JJ says doubtfully, but he pours Jaymi's drink all the same. "How can you see through eyebrows?"

"Very carefully," Jaymi, Harry, and George all say as one, and Jaymi claps, delighted.

JJ smiles reluctantly. "Guess that's told me, then."

George giggles into his own shotglass. He wants to drink, but he remembers that Louis told him not to get drunk if they're going to play and he's spending the night at their house, or at least wants that more than he wants to get drunk, so he's torn.

Thankfully, Louis leans against George's side and presses his lips next to his ear, whispering: "You can have two. More than that and you're only getting cuddles."

George nods, then -- "Two total, or two shots and some beers?"

Louis hums, and it tickles George's ear. "If you're slurring, I'm not touching you sexually."

George smirks at that.

He's a little guy now, he knows that, but he can still hold his liquor like a big guy. Louis' given him a world of latitude there.

Louis kisses the soft skin below George's ear. "You can stop looking so pleased with yourself any time," he teases. "You deserve to have a bit of fun. Been a hard day for you."

George nods at that, and holds out his shotglass for more tequila.

The bottle goes quickly with all six of them drinking from it. George feels a lot looser after his second shot, which is weird because it usually takes more than that to get him feeling lightheaded. He frowns, remembering that he hasn't eaten since that morning's breakfast. He should probably slow down, then.

He slumps back against Harry's arm where Harry is listening to JJ talk about horses.

Harry wraps his arm around George without speaking, nodding along with whatever JJ is saying. George is impressed. Either Harry's genuinely interested or he's a better actor than George thought.

After JJ's finished, lured into a debate with Josh about -- something, George isn't really listening -- Harry leans in and rubs George's arm lightly with his thumb. "Have you eaten since breakfast?"

"No. I get too nervous before shows." George lets his head drop onto Harry's shoulder. "It's hitting me fast."

Harry clucks, concerned. "Here, let's get you some food. D'you want a burger?"

"I like burgers," George says agreeably. "Do they have them here? Is there burger-flavored beer?"

Harry laughs and shakes his head. "I'm not feeding you anything they've cooked here, I like you too much. There's a McDonalds up the street, I'll run and get you something."

"No, don't leave." George burrows into Harry's side as much as he can. "This half of me will be cold."

Harry kisses the side of George's head. "You need food, love. You can come along if you'd like?"

George rolls his head to look up at Harry. His head already feels a bit swimmy. "Can I?" He bites his lip.

"Sure," Harry says amiably, and pokes Louis' shoulder on his other side. "Budge up, Lou, I'm taking George to get a burger. Does anyone else want anything?"

"I'm still a bit queasy from almost going home," Jaymi mutters, and the others make vague noises of agreement. 

Louis pats George's thigh before he slips out of the booth. "You alright, darling?" he asks softly.

"M'good." George smiles at Louis, and his tipsy eyes zero in on Louis' lips. "Your lips look really erm, pink."

Louis' mouth turns up at the corners, his pink lips smiling. "Thank you? Same color they normally are, babe."

George shakes his head, then shrugs. "They look nice."

"Thanks," Louis says again, and he pulls George into a hug, rubbing his back. "You should eat more," he chastises. "Even when you're nervous."

George doesn't even want to get into that discussion right now, how much he eats, so he just nods a little vaguely and follows Harry out of the dingy pub.

The cool air clears his head a bit, feels refreshing on his face, and he tips his chin up to feel it better for a moment. "Nice," he says absently, breathing in.

Harry nods, his hands in his back pockets. "Bit stuffy inside, wasn't it?"

"A little bit, yeah," George agrees, taking another breath and then opening his eyes to smile at Harry. "Sorry to be a bother."

"It's not a bother," Harry assures him. "I'll probably get something, too. It's been a long day."

"Yeah, it has." George swallows, pushing away thoughts of how close he'd come to losing... everything. This. Harry, probably. "A really long day," he reiterates.

Harry knocks his elbow against George's and doesn't say anything. It's sort of nice, that Harry is silent around him sometimes, because Louis never is. Silence is hard to come by in the hotel, too, and it's something George didn't realize could be missed until he couldn't find it.

He thinks Harry's a lot like him, that way. Sometimes he just needs to have his thoughts, and it's hard to do when everyone else's thoughts are getting in the way.

"Your single's coming out tomorrow," he remembers, casting a glance toward Harry. "Are you nervous?"

Harry shrugs a little and kicks a little pebble with the toe of his boot as he opens the glass McDonalds door and waves George inside.

He probably doesn't want to talk about it, George thinks. He feels a bit bad for bringing it up, and falls silent again rather than say something else stupid.

"I always get nervous," Harry says. "I get nervous thinking about singing it on telly. After I messed up our finals, that long note, and then we lost, I just..."

"It's weird to think about you getting nervous," George replies softly. "You're in the biggest band in the world right now."

"Yeah, that's why I get nervous," Harry says, and gives George a little green-eyed smile. "That's a lot of pressure, being in 'the biggest boy band since the Beatles.'"

"Oh. That makes sense." George nods. "Makes my situation seem a little... I don't know, trivial."

"It's not trivial," Harry says. "You might be taking our place. That's a big thing. What d'you want?"

"I don't know, the cheapest one." George waves a hand dismissively. "We don't want to take your place, though. We're not One Direction; everyone wants us to be One Direction, or they think we're trying to be One Direction, but we aren't. We're Union J. There's not even five of us."

Harry laughs. "I guess that's true. There weren't five of BBMak, and I think one of them played guitar. You can be them."

"Can't we just be us?" George replies, aware he's sort of whining. "Why've we got to be the second coming of anyone else?"

Harry grins at George over his shoulder and then places their order. He pulls George off to the side and they wait for their order to come.

George takes a deep breath. The wooziness is starting to be unpleasant, making his vision blur a little as he watches the people coming in and out of the door.

Harry's arm is steady and comforting as he wraps it around George's shoulders. "You really got hit fast, didn't you?"

"Don't understand it," George grumbles. "Normally I'm quite an impressive drunk."

"I'm sure you are," Harry says with what sounds like a smile. "This is why you need to eat if you're going to be drinking."

George mumbles _don't like eating_ , but either Harry doesn't hear or ignores it.

Their order doesn't take long and Harry grabs the back before leading George out the door. The air is nice and cool still, and George breathes it in happily.

"I like this life," he tells Harry. "I like being on the X Factor and I like London a lot, and I really -- I really like you and Louis. A lot."

Harry smiles at him and knuckles some of George's hair off his forehead. "We like you a lot, too," he says softly. "And we like you being in London, and we like watching you on the show. You're so talented, George."

George dances a little out on the sidewalk, pleased with the compliment and not too drunk not to be lucid but silly.

He thinks Harry's laughing at him, but that's alright, because he's laughing at himself.

"Eat your burger," Harry instructs him, reaching into the back and pulling out the wrapped sandwich.

"All we ever eat are burgers," George says sadly, but peels back the paper all the same. "Calorific food. We tried health burgers last week with cereals in them but they were awful."

"They sound awful." Harry wrinkles his nose. "It's easier to eat well when we're at home. On the road it's all chips and rubbish food."

George talks around the burger in his mouth. "I used to be really fat. They bullied me out of four schools, and uni, too."

"Is that why you don't eat so much?" Harry says it like it's anything else, but George can feel his eyes on him.

His ears go a little red. "I'm eating."

"Mm." Harry slowly unwraps his own sandwich, keeping his eyes on George. "You are," he agrees.

George pats his stomach and makes a big show of swallowing the bite of burger. "Mmmmm."

Harry laughs. "Alright, alright. I won't say anything else about it." He lowers his head to his own sandwich and appears to eat half of it in one bite. George blinks at him.

"You eat like a frog," he comments. "With your tongue out."

Harry frowns as he chews, swallowing before he responds. "I do not! To be a frog, I'd have to, like, hold it at arm's length and eat it from there."

"I bet you could," George comments. "Your tongue is quite long."

Harry sticks it out, and tries to touch his nose. He can't do it. "I've been trying that for ages and I can never reach," he sighs. "Liam can, though."

"You're stretching out your upper lip," George advises. "Don't. It's like this." He rolls his tongue.

Harry's brow furrows as he tries to mimic what George is doing. "I'm just getting spit all over my face," he complains.

"You got worse all over my face last night," George murmurs on a giggle.

Harry grins at him, swiping his wrist over his upper lip. "I liked that, though," he says under his breath, slipping closer to George. "You look good with come all over you."

George shivers a little. "I like it, too."

"I'm glad. I want to do it a lot." Harry nudges the back of George's hand with his own. "Like, all the time."

"Might be awkward if it's all the time, since we both spend quite a lot of it in front of cameras," George muses. "But I guess that'd just be a new sort of career."

Harry barks out a laugh, but he muffles it by shoving his burger into his mouth and biting down. Once he's chewed and swallowed, he responds. "It's always good to have a backup plan."

"My mum says that," George says around a mouthful of chips. "But not about porn."

"So's mine," Harry agrees. "Also not about porn, though. I think. I mean, I hope so? My mum's a bit weird, though. She might mean porn."

George is startled into a snorting laugh as Harry shoulders open the pub doors again and they come face-to-face with JJ and Louis engaged in what looks like some sort of glass-balancing contest, each with a growing stack balanced on their foreheads.

"Tenner on Louis," Harry says without breaking stride, balling up the bag their food came in and stuffing it in a bin.

"I don't know, JJ has good balance," Josh says, looking over from where he's carefully setting another glass on JJ's stack. "He has like, equilibrium. From riding the ponies."

"Yeah, but Louis' played this game before. A lot, actually," Harry muses, giving the players a critical scan. "Always while drunk, and he always beats everyone else."

"I'll take that tenner," Jaymi offers. "Although no, we're not supposed to gamble while on the show, are we?"

"I don't think this counts," George says wryly.

"I won't tell anyone," Harry assures, grinning at Jaymi. "Prepare to be poorer."

"Come on, JJ, you have to win!" Jaymi cheers, jumping up on his chair.

"If you lose, I'm paying him with your money," Harry informs Louis, taking a seat to watch. "So you'd better win."

Louis quirks a smile, but keeps the glasses balanced.

"What are we going to do when one of you breaks all of those?" George inquires, debating just sitting on Harry's lap but instead deciding to take the seat beside him.

"Louis' never broken one," Harry says proudly. "And I think they're plastic, anyway."

"Oh, I'm not as concerned, then. Carry on," George says, leaning back in his seat. "How often does he do this? And how'd he convince JJ to?"

"He does this whenever he needs quick pocket money," Harry says. "Only he usually does against Niall, who has the grace of a water buffalo even on his best and most sober days. Which are never the same days." 

He flags down a tray of beers and pops one open for himself, holding it in his mouth as he opens one for George.

George accepts, but keeps his eyes on the pink purse of Harry's lips around the neck of the bottle. "You've got a really good mouth."

Harry takes the bottle out and smirks. "Cheeky."

"It's not my fault I've got eyes," George insists, tipping his head back to take a drag. He feels less sluggish with a bit of food in him.

George gets a wicked idea then.

"Louis," he asks plaintively, "Whose mouth is looking nicer, mine or Harry's?"

Louis' head twitches as he looks to the side.

The stack of plastic glasses falls around them all as they duck and cover their heads, and they go bouncing across the floor with a dull clatter.

"You cheat!" Harry exclaims, but he's laughing almost hysterically. "You just lost me a tenner!"

Louis dramatically falls to his knees, shaking his fists at the sky as JJ celebrates his victory and Josh begins to do -- a dance, George thinks. Maybe.

Jaymi rolls over sideways on his seat, laugh. "Joshy, what the fuck are you doing?"

"I'm twerking!" Josh exclaims, doing something that resembles the bunny-hop. "Like in that video we got sent on Twitter, remember?"

Harry laughs, red-faced. "That's not twerking! I can twerk; Louis!" he shakes Louis' shoulder where Louis is sitting, stone-faced and arms crossed, beside him. "Can't I twerk?"

"Shut up, Harry, I'm in mourning for my spotless record," Louis mutters, his eyes narrowed. "But yes, you can twerk very well." His lips twitch.

"I learnt to twerk," George offers. "From a fan outside the hotel. I tried it in the twitcam, but I think wearing a monkey onesie ruined the effect."

"Why don't you show them now?" Jaymi is nearly in tears. "Show them how well you can twerk, George. Please."

"Jaymi thinks I can't do it," George informs Harry and Louis ingenuously.

Jaymi snorts. "I know you can't do it. I've _seen_ you." He grins at Harry and Louis. "You need to see this. It's amazing."

George huffs and stands up, dusts his hands off on his thighs, and turns his back on Harry and Louis.

Really, he's pretty sure the only thing you need to do to twerk is move your arse a lot, so he does, and he nearly falls over but he's definitely twerking.

He even hops from foot to foot just to make sure there's extra wiggle.

"See?" he says proudly, turning around to see Harry's face buried in Louis' arm, his shoulders shaking. Louis looks very solemn, in contrast, and he's nodding.

"Yeah, that was really good, George," he says, a faint smile on his face. "Exactly right."

George beams at Jaymi and sticks out his tongue. "See? I told you! I learnt to twerk outside the hotel!"

"He has to say that!" Jaymi protests, his face bright red from laughter. "That was awful! It was just bouncing!"

"That's what twerking _is_ ," George says, exasperated. "It's just bouncing your arse about."

"But you weren't bouncing your arse, you were bouncing your whole body," Jaymi disagrees. "Look, I know twerking when I see it, and that's not it."

"Fine, let me fix it."

"Why don't you show him how you twerk, Harry?" says Louis loudly, politely smiling. "Maybe that'll be helpful."

Harry groans. "Ugh. But I'm all full of McDonalds. You can't twerk full of McDonalds."

"It sounds very American to me," JJ comments.

"Twerk gently then," Louis concludes. "I want to see my favorite boys twerking, go on."

Harry sighs and jumps up.

Meanwhile, George is glowing at being described as one of Louis' favorite boys. He's so distracted he nearly misses Harry's twerking, which really seems more like he's softly fucking the air.

"That's not how you do it," he says doubtfully. "Is it?"

"It's not," Jaymi confirms. "It's more arsey."

"I don't _have_ more arse!" Harry whines.

"He's a bit short on arse," Louis agrees. "Put more into it, Hazza, there's a good lad. Feel your inner arse."

"That sounds entirely wrong," George mumbles, but he tries copying Harry, bopping around a little.

"That is pitiful," Josh announces, and stands on his chair. " _This_ is twerking."

His attempt is so vigorous that he teeters on the chair and nearly falls over before he rights himself and continues, carefully twerking atop his seat.

Jaymi actually buries his face in his arms rather than watch the remaining attempts of Harry, George, and Josh to out-twerk each other. "I don't know any of you."

"I don't really know what's going on," JJ says, "But I think I'm scared."

"This feels bizarrely similar to an ordinary Sunday night." Louis' eyes are lit up with delight as they flit to each person. "In fact -- in fact I think it's exactly the same."

"What, you regularly have really bad twerking competitions on Sunday nights?" Jaymi asks, not looking up.

"You'd be surprised." Louis sounds utterly serious. "You'll be delighted to know Harry's actually the best at it out of all of us."

"No, you're ruining my fantasies of Zayn Malik," Jaymi grumbles. "I watched his sexy dancing video, he twerks better than -- " He flutters a hand vaguely at Harry and George dancing up on each other in the corner -- "Whatever that is."

"When he's sober," Louis allows, his smile widening.

Jaymi sighs happily and rests his chin on his forearms. George smiles at them all as he and Harry keep twerking, or something, up against each other.

"So," Louis says, lowering his voice and shifting closer to Jaymi. "I've been meaning to talk to you, actually."

George keeps wiggling his bum, because Harry's cupping his hands over it and that's quite nice, but he struggles to listen to what Louis and Jaymi are talking about because Louis' face has its serious look on.

Jaymi's face sort of flickers into a less elated expression, and he nods. George can't see his face very well, but he thinks he looks a little unsure. "Yeah? What about?"

Louis just tilts his head and waits. 

It's very intimidating, all things considered.

It doesn't take long before Jaymi lets out a sigh. "Yeah, alright," he mutters, barely audible. "I'm not going to apologize, if that's what you're after. He needed someone and I was there."

"But he wasn't sober," Louis says. "What about that? Have you apologized to him, if you won't to me?"

There's a pause. "No," Jaymi says quietly. "I haven't. That, I'll do."

Louis watches him eagle-eyed, and George watches him watching. "Good."

"You can't do that to him again, though." Jaymi's voice is stronger. "Send him off like that when he doesn't know what he's doing. This is the second time you've done it and I'm the one who's got to be there for him when you aren't and he doesn't know what to do."

Louis looks a little chastened. "I know, I didn't that one would be bad. We've never -- everyone else has always either been with us all the time or was... or they knew for themselves what to do."

"I told you, you need to take care of him if you're going to take care of him. You can't just half-arse it, I don't care who the hell you are." Jaymi sounds angry, and he hardly ever sounds angry. "You're his only experience with this." 

"We're trying!" Louis' hands are open. "We're learning him while he's learning us. We don't get to live with him and learn what his weak spots are to use for our own advantage when he's uncomfortable and drunk." He bites his tongue. "Sorry. But also not."

"That's not what it was. Christ, how do people not just punch you in the face." Jaymi shakes his head. "I'm not -- learning his weak spots. I'm being his friend. You know, actually talking to him instead of using him for sex."

"They talk to me," George interjects, because he's getting hot and itchy and uncomfortable listening to them fight like he's not even here. "They do! Really!"

Jaymi looks at him and George is pretty sure he doesn't want that, because Jaymi _looks_ about as angry as he sounds. "Is that what you think too? That I'm, what, learning your weak spots, or whatever? Taking advantage of you?"

"No," George assures him. He's not twerking against Harry anymore, but Harry's arms are firm around him and that's enough, it's grounding. "But I don't think they are, either."

"Of course you don't. Why would you?" Jaymi laughs and it doesn't sound happy at all. "Jesus," he mutters as he rubs his face, leaving his head in his hands.

George turns his head and looks up at Harry. They're nearly the same height, so it isn't far to go, but George still feels dwarfed.

"Shh, come here," Harry murmurs, gathering George in his arms. "You look terrified, calm down, please," he whispers in George's ear.

"’m not," George mumbles. "I just feel bad everyone's upset on my account when I'm _not_ upset."

"It's not your fault." Harry rubs his back lightly. "This was bound to happen, and it's better it's happening now rather than building up and exploding."

George frowns. It didn't need to happen at all, though. 

"Hey," he says, as loudly and stridently as he can just as Louis and Jaymi both open their mouths again, "First, I'm right here, so please don't talk about me like I'm not. And second -- second, I am a grown man. I know I'm like, look young, but I'm not a child and I do know how to take care of myself. And I felt threatened, I wouldn't -- do those things, that make me feel threatened."

"Just because you don't feel threatened doesn't mean everything's alright," Jaymi says quietly. "Sorry, but I don't -- he keeps leaving you alone when he shouldn't. I don't like that."

"But that's just how it is with our schedule," George says, placating. "I'm not, like. Fragile."

"You are, when you're under." Louis sounds more exhausted than anything else. "Last week proved that."

"That was different," George insists. "And like you said, we're all learning. I've forgiven you that."

"Maybe you have," Louis accepts, fiddling with the label of his bottle. "It's still a valid point, as much as I hate to admit it."

"Yeah, but the Skyfall thing wasn't anyone's fault," George argues. "Or else it's everyone's. It's not like I was so drunk I didn't know what I was doing, or with whom. You never said we were exclusive, really, and I didn't -- "

"I don't blame you," Louis cuts him off. "I already told you that I'm not angry with you about it. You were drunk."

"But so was Jaymi," George argues. "Wasn't he? I wasn't that drunk. I was tipsy, but I was walking straight lines and I could do the alphabet."

He thinks. "I'm probably more drunk now. Really, I promise."

"You definitely couldn't do the alphabet; I couldn't read your texts at all." Louis sighs. "So if you're more drunk now, I'm not going to take advantage of you. Because that's what it's called when someone tries it on with a drunk person."

"And what it's called when someone dominates another person without negotiating first," Jaymi says stonily. "I was wrong. I'll admit that. It was wrong for a lot of reasons, what I did, but you haven't said yet you understand _really_ what you did last week."

"I can't make excuses for myself." Louis folds his arms over his chest. "I've never done this with anyone but Harry, so you're right, I don't know what I'm doing. But I'm trying my best. And I apologized for last week."

"He did," George says. "And he didn't touch me that night, Jaymi, he really didn't."

"You came back covered in bruises, though?" JJ pipes up, a little timidly, from the corner where he and Josh are huddled, still drinking. "You thought you hid them but you're bad at hiding stuff."

"I told you they were going to think that," Louis mutters, but George ignores him, his face flushing.

"I asked for them!" He'd be embarrassed if he wasn't feeling so many other things. "And that was the morning after. It wasn't -- I was fine."

He shrugs. "I don't know what you want me to say, or what you could say to each other to fix it, but like... we all fucked up. And I know I shouldn't blame myself 'cause I wasn't myself, but..."

"I just want him to actually take care of you," Jaymi mumbles, staring at the woodgrain of the table. "Like he says he wants to."

"We've seen George four times, ever, in private," Louis says. "I'm doing my best."

George has to turn away. It's not like he doesn't know that he cares rather more than they do -- knows that he'd feel destroyed if this stopped now, while it probably wouldn't matter to them, but it still stings a little. Four times. That's all. It shouldn't feel like any more than it is.

"Hey," Harry murmurs in George's ear. "It doesn't matter. I knew how I felt about Louis within four minutes of meeting him." George can feel Harry smile against his hair. "I meet good people in loos, apparently."

"We met in a loo," George whispers. It's clearly Harry's point, but he has to say something, so it might as well be the obvious. "You and me."

Harry noses at the side of George's head. "That's what I meant, you goof."

"Can you hug me, please?" George asks, too tired all of a sudden to say it anything but plainly.

Harry's arms are still around George, but -- even after only four times -- Harry knows that he means to hold him tight. And he does.

It helps. George feels less out of control with Harry wrapped around him, a little like he can't breathe properly and he likes it that way. He closes his eyes and leans his head back, and wishes he could let his thoughts drift away.

Louis' voice actually addressing him like he's an adult in the room calls him back, though.

"George? Just so you and everyone else knows, we do want you to be exclusive, if you want. I'd thought we made that pretty clear, but I guess I never said it."

"No, you didn't," George says faintly. He feels a little disoriented, though he doesn't know if that's from drinking or from being snapped out of his safe, slow-breathing place so quickly. "I mean, I thought -- I _hoped_ \-- but I just thought, it's you two, and I'm. Separate."

"Oh, come off it," Josh groans finally. "You're all a bunch of sixth-form children right now, I feel like I'm living an episode of Skins but I'm the weird redhead one in the corner just watching everyone else get fucked up. Jaymi has an Olly, he was using one free pass on George, and that was wrong. Louis broke George last week, and that was wrong. George, you weren't yourself, so that wasn't wrong, and you need to stop taking everything so personally. And Louis, Jaymi doesn't want George 'cause he has an Olly, and Jaymi, you have an Olly, let Louis have George. Jesus christ."

He drops back into his seat and silence reigns, the only sounds the clinking of glasses from behind the bar.

"I don't take everything personally," George finally says, frowning a little. "Do I take everything personally?"

"You do, a bit, but you're just a sensitive little lad," JJ says. "It's alright. But, I mean, stop."

"Who is Olly?" Louis asks the room at large, obviously bewildered. "Have I missed something?"

Jaymi shakes his head. "Olly's my boyfriend. Of four years, nearly."

"You've got a boyfriend." Louis frowns at him. "What's he mean, you used one free pass on George?"

"Oh, my god," George says, laughing and incredulous. "Am I on your free three?"

Jaymi's face is more red than George has ever seen it. " _No_ ," he insists, staring at the table.

"I totally am," George says. "I'm totally your third celebrity."

"You're not a celebrity, you're a -- wanker," Jaymi concludes, sniffing haughtily. "And you're not on there anymore, are you? If you were. Which you weren't."

"I was." George grins and chuffs his own chin with his shoulder out of fondness for Jaymi. "And now Louis, you have nothing to worry about because apparently I'm not going to be a celebrity anyway, since the British voting public stopped liking my face, and I'm off Jaymi's list."

"It's not possible to stop liking your face," Louis tells him. He looks less huffy now, which has to be a good thing. "I suppose I'm happy about the second one, though. I can't believe you have a boyfriend," he says to Jaymi. "This whole time?"

"For way longer than the whole time," Jaymi confirms. "A really understanding boyfriend, yeah, but. I don't actually want George, like full-time."

"I, er. May have thought you did." Louis clears his throat, his fingers drumming on the tabletop. "Which would be false. As you've got -- Olly, did you say his name was?"

Jaymi nods. "Not Murs."

"I'm sure he's very lovely." Louis shakes his head and slides down in his seat a little. "Okay. So, you won't try to get off with George again, then?"

"I shouldn't have even before, erm, free pass or not. He wasn't himself." Jaymi tips his head back to look at George. "Sorry, Georgie."

"It's okay," George says before remembering that they don't like it when he says that. "Er -- I forgive you?"

George shakes his head. "It's really, like. I understand it's a big deal, but it doesn't feel like it to me 'cause I knew what I was doing and nobody's touched me when I didn't want. And I just mostly feel embarrassed JJ and Josh have had to sit through this, if I'm honest, and I'm sleepy and want my monkey onesie now."

Harry wraps around him from behind, solid and warm. "Would you still like to come back to ours?" he invites. "We can stop at the hotel first and let you get your onesie."

George nods. "Please."

"I'll call a cab," Harry says into his ear, rubbing George's stomach. "You should sit with Louis, give him a bit of a cuddle so he knows you're alright."

George smiles and happily scoots over to Louis, resting his chin over Louis' shoulder. "Hi."

"Hello, love," Louis whispers, reaching a hand up to ruffle George's hair. "Sorry for getting so angry, I didn't mean to make you upset."

"It upsets me more that you were acting like I can't speak in my own defense," George says. "I know you're trying to take care of me, and you _do_ , really. But I am older than Harry. I'm nearly as old as you."

"That's just it, though," Louis says quietly in return. "You _don't_ speak in your own defense, a lot of the time. Even when you should. When I need to know."

"You said I was better last night," George points out. "I'm working on it. We all have stuff to work on."

"We do," Louis agrees, leaning his head against George's. "I'm going to make mistakes, and when I do, I need you to tell me, alright? And you can expect the same from me."

George nods. "I know. And Harry, too."

"And Harry, too, even if he's annoyingly good at everything sometimes." Louis kisses two of his fingertips and presses them to George's lips. "How do you feel?"

"I'm sad about the show," George says. "And I'm sleepy and need cuddles. But I'm fine."

"We can give you cuddles when we get home." Louis touches George's cheek. "Lots of them."

George smiles and nuzzles his cheek into Louis' hand.

"You're so cute when you're tired." Louis smiles back at him, and kisses his forehead. "Are you going to be able to stay awake for cuddles?"

George nods. "I can always stay awake for cuddles. Also, I want to wash my hair, it's all sweaty and crunchy."

"You can have a shower as well." Louis slips his arm around George's waist. "And then you can put on your onesie that makes you too cute to fuck."

George side-eyes that. "Because you don't trust me to say if I'm too upset to fuck, or because I like my onesie?"

"Because I'm not into monkeys," Louis says airily. "Or fucking them."

George nods. "You _are_ into me, though, right, still? It wasn't like a weird rivalry with Jaymi?"

Louis' eyes flick to George's lips and then back to his eyes. "I am very, very into you," he murmurs. "Extremely."

George looks over both of his shoulders quickly, then leans in to kiss Louis shortly. "Good."

"About five minutes," Harry announces as he returns to the group, jamming his phone back into his pocket. "Are we all ready to go? How many J's do I have?"

"Three J's and G," JJ reports. "Well, or four J's if you count both of mine."

"That's all the J's accounted for. I think we're good." Harry holds out a hand to help George out of the booth. "Are we good?" he asks again, softly, moving his gaze to Louis and then back to George.

George nods, and Louis gives Harry a little salute.

Harry visibly perks up. "Lovely," he replies, grabbing first George's hand and then Louis'. "I'm knackered. Can't wait to get home."

The cab ride is surprisingly fun -- the driver has a good radio station going and they try to harmonize six parts to Katy Perry -- and George alights with the rest of Union J so they look less suspicious (and so he can collect his onesie from the room).

"I really am sorry," Jaymi says from his bed, changed into pyjamas and looking smaller for it as he watches George pack up his onesie. He has one knee pulled up so he can rest his chin on it. "For taking advantage of you."

George nods. "I know you are. I really did know what I was doing, though."

"Even if you did, I still shouldn't have." He shrugs a shoulder. "I knew you were his even if you didn't."

George hides his face at that because he doesn't want Jaymi to think he's smiling so widely at Jaymi feeling bad.

"You'll be back tomorrow, right?" Jaymi asks, stretching himself out on his bed. "Room's lonely without you."

George nods. "Bright and early I suspect so we can meet about a song."

"A great song," Jaymi agrees. He hesitates, then shakes his head. "I'll see you tomorrow."

George nods and heads back downstairs to the back exit of the hotel.

The cab is still there, waiting with Harry and Louis inside, and George sighs in relief as he closes the door behind him. The backseat smells like cigarettes and a few other things he'd rather not think about, but Harry and Louis are there, so it's perfect anyway.

Louis crawls over George's lap so that he can sit between them, cuddled by Harry on one side and Louis on the other.

He hums happily, leaning his head onto Harry's shoulder and relaxing. "I missed this," he mutters. "I know it's only been a day, it's stupid."

"It's not stupid, and you've -- we've all had a shit day, basically," Harry murmurs, and he wraps his arm around George's waist. It isn't all that comfortable, Harry's arm and the backrest of the cab's seat not at all meant to go together, but George appreciates it all the same.

Louis' arm slips over George's shoulders and he pinches Harry's arm before he rubs the side of George's neck. "It's okay to miss things, especially when they make you feel good," he says.

"I feel better now," George admits.

Louis licks his lip and studies George's face carefully. "Would it make you feel better to go under? The floaty -- the nice one. Not for sex, as I don't... feel up to it, and we were all drinking, but just so you didn't have to think for a bit?"

"Can I do that without sex?" George asks, surprised. "Is that even a thing I _can_ do?"

"Some people can," Harry says. "I can but it takes me a little longer. I suspect it might be easier for you."

"I'd like to, if I can. My head sort of hurts from... Everything." George looks at Louis hopefully. "Yeah, I'd really like that."

"OK, love," Louis murmurs. "Just relax."

George nods, and relaxes back against Harry's arm, keeping his eyes on Louis. He's buzzing a little in the back of his head, with exitement for this feeling again.

Rubbing gently at George's belly, Harry's hand is heavy and steadying, something to focus on.

It's easier when he closes his eyes. He smiles as he lets in the feeling, warm and thick, his thoughts slowing down until he can just let them go and breathe, in, out.

He can smell Louis, sweet and lemony, near him, and can feel Harry's hand moving gently, but everything else fades gratefully away.

"Good boy," Louis whispers to him, and George preens, nuzzling at the jut of Louis' shoulder blade. He smells so nice, and George just wants to smell him and feel him and make him happy forever.

"Can you open your eyes for us?" Louis murmurs, and George does. His pupils are huge, and he knows he must look tired, but Louis smiles all the same and that makes George smile.

George's head feels light, but not like it felt when he was drinking. He thinks it feels sort of like he felt when he was drunk for the first time, and he felt a little invincible and like he could just float into the sky and become one of the stars. This feels just like that, except he's grounded here with Harry and Louis.

It's nice, feeling like everything will be okay.

"You feel nice, don't you, George?" Louis asks him, searching George's eyes. "Can you give me your color, so I know?"

"Really green." George smiles and his nose wrinkles up. "I feel nice. Cozy."

"Good, cozy's how we want you to feel." Louis wrinkles his nose right back. "We're gonna take a shower, and then put you in your onesie."

"Okay," George agrees, then frowns just a little. "I'm not a kid. Makes me sound like a kid."

"You're definitely not our kid." Louis grins wryly. "No matter what the internet has to say. You're just our George."

George nods. "Good. Can put myself in my monkey onepiece."

"Of course you can," Louis agrees. "I just like taking care of you a bit."

George nods, feeling light and warm and bright and slow-sleepy all at once.

The cab slows to a stop and Harry kisses George's shoulder before he opens the door. "I've got it," he mutters, digging his wallet out of his pocket.

"Thanks, babe," Louis tells Harry, and rubs Harry's ribs lightly as he slides out of the car after George.

George wavers on his feet for a moment and then leans against Louis, breathing in again and smiling at him. "You smell nice," he tells him. "Did you know?"

"Thanks." Louis' stubble rubs up against George's cheek as Louis nuzzles the side of his head. "I do try."

George sighs happily. This is so good. "What do you want?" he asks, nosing against Louis' jaw.

Louis hums. "I to have a nice, calm, quiet night with my boys. I think we could all use that, hmm?"

"Yes." George grins at him. "That sounds amazing. I want that."

"Good," Louis murmurs, rubbing George's back. "You and harry can run the bath and I'll make tea."

"Tea in the bath?" George asks curiously.

"Everyone needs to have tea in the bath at least once in their lives," Louis says firmly. "That once might as well be tonight."

George tilts his head. "Coffee?"

Louis makes a face at him. "Sure, if you want," he says reluctantly. "Only because I like you so much."

George beams at that. It's less intense, the floating softness, because they aren't overwhelming him with touch, but it's still nice. It's peaceful instead of consuming.

Harry sets his hands on George's shoulders, rubbing them lightly. "Let's run the bath, shall we?" he murmurs, steering them toward the house as Louis follows at a more sedate pace. "Do you like it warm or hot?"

"Hot," George says promptly. "I like to be pink when I get out."

"Of course you do." Harry tickles George's side. "Hot it is, then. If I go all splotchy, though, don't laugh at me."

George can't imagine Harry looking anything other than gorgeous, and he says so as he follows Harry up the stairs. He's actually able to pay attention this time, and he notices the paintings on the walls and the framed gold and platinum albums that he'd missed before.

"You're very successful," he says softly, one hand hanging on to Harry's hip, his fingers curling around it. "You're so good."

"Thank you," Harry says. "We've been really lucky."

"No, you're good," George insists, grateful when they reach the top of the stairs. He doesn't much like them when he's feeling floaty.

Harry smirks and pulls his shirt off in one smooth tug. "You're good, too. You're better than we were, back when we were on the show."

George doesn't respond, distracted by all the skin he can touch now. His fingers press to Harry's stomach, firm and flat and pale. "I want to touch," he murmurs.

"Okay," Harry assents, and kisses George's forehead. "You can touch whatever you want."

That's a rather large amount of things, George thinks. He slides his hand up, spreading his fingers. "You're so fit, Harry," he whispers, shuffling closer.

Harry smiles and catches Georges hand, lifting it to kiss George's palm, where his hand is soft and without calluses from playing guitar, a little ticklish right over his heart and fate lines.

"Oh," says George, and he leans in to Harry, resting against him. "Oh, I like you," he says softly.

Harry runs his hand slowly down over the length of George's back, his thumb massaging once into the knot of muscle that's tensed up between the wings of George's shoulder blades from the stress of the competition, then carefully lifts George's t-shirt up. "Lift up."

George raises his arms and Harry eases the t-shirt the rest of the way off.

"I like to look at you," Harry tells him, his thumbs stroking lightly over George's collarbones. "I can still see some of my marks. And Louis'," he adds, touching the mark now visible as George's makeup has smeared off.

"Can I have more marks before I go back tomorrow?"

"Of course you can." Harry looks pleased that he's been asked. "To remember us when we can't be there."

George nods, pleased to his bones.

The bath is hot just the way George likes it, and he's surprised when all that actually happens is cleaning. Harry insists that George let him wash his hair, getting his fingers in deep to wash out the gritty remnants of hairspray.

Louis brings tea and coffee when they're nearly done, and George curls his legs up beneath him in the water to sip from it, the steam curling up under his nose and then mixing with the steam from the hot water.

George is light pink all over by the time they get out, dirty mugs forgotten on the floor as George is enveloped on both sides by fluffy, warm towels to rub him dry.

He hasn't had to think about anything much since they were in the cab, and when he realizes that, it's barely enough to seem strange -- an inching, pink thought, not something blaring and urgent.

"I've brought your onesie," Louis says quietly, a smile on his face as he rubs another towel over George's hair. "Would you like it now?"

George considers this for a minute, letting the ideas puff into his head one at a time: monkeys. Onesie. Harry. Louis. Cuddles. Skin.

"Can I not, for a bit?"

"Whatever you want," Louis says, holding George close to him. "It's up to you."

That makes George frown, though, his face pinched. "I don't like that. I like when you tell me."

"I'll remember that," Louis promises. "We're going to take you to bed with us, and we'll bring your onesie for if you get cold. For now I want to feel just you."

George feels a light, sweeping electric tinge course through him at that, and his eyes light up as he nods enthusiastically.

"Good boy," Louis says quietly, pulling George into a hug before he leads him down the hallway. Harry's ahead of them, and he nearly leaps onto the bed.

"I missed you," Harry mutters against his pillow. "It's been such a long day without you."

George feels a bit jealous of the pillow. _Honestly_.

"In bed, you." Louis gives George's arse a pinch. "Harry looks cold, don't you think? Warm him up."

George nods and clambers onto the bed, shuffling across on his knees until he's able to reach down and run his hands over Harry's back. It's a different angle to his tattoos than George has been able to see before, and he traces his fingers over the stark black lines of them.

"That feels nice." Harry hums, peering out from his pillow to smile at George. "Keep doing that, please."

"Yes," George murmurs, and brings his second hand to rub over the lines of script that curve over the top of Harry's arsecheek.

"That one's mine," Louis says as he crawls onto the bed beside George, chin settling on his shoulder. "Well, most of them are. I picked that one, though."

George smiles. "Did Harry pick yours?"

"He did," Louis confirms. "Well, one of them."

"I like that," George says. "It's like my bruises, but more permanent."

Louis makes a considering sound. "I hadn't thought of it like that. It sort of is, though, isn't it?"

Harry murmurs into the pillows and shifts a bit. "You stopped touching. More touching.”

George smiles and spreads his fingers over Harry's back again, tracing the solid muscles with his fingertips. "You're unreal," he mutters, following the slope of Harry's spine.

"You always say that, and yet here I am, real," Harry mutters, turning his head so he can look up at George in the corner of his eye.

"Yeah, but you're, like." George touches Harry's shoulder, all warm, smooth skin. "It's like I've had sex with the most attractive people in the world."

Harry and Louis both laugh under their breath at that. Louis' hands are gentle but firm as they land on George's shoulders and he eases George away from Harry's back. 

"Come on, lie down," Louis says. "We wanted to cuddle and talk, so let's do."

"Okay," George agrees, settling into the cushy warmth of the bed. As crazy as it sounds, he's missed Harry's bed too, since the morning.

They cuddle down under the blankets and Louis' legs twine up with George's beneath the sheets. He can feel Louis' dick on his hip, but it's soft, which is new. It's not something George has been around much before -- people tend to have him in bed long enough for sex and then it's time to go -- and it makes him feel a little less vulnerable, somehow. Harry snuggles up to his other side, a warm and heavy weight. Harry sometimes looks so broad and other times so slim that George forgets how solid he is, and how nice that can be. It's like a blanket made of Harry and George can't really think of anything better than that right now.

"I'm sorry you think we treat you like a kid," Louis murmurs, brushing George's hair out of his face. "I know you're like, our age. I just feel protective of you. And Harry, too."

"Yeah, sometimes he fixes my hair or collar during interviews and it's embarrassing," Harry mumbles. "But he's just trying to take care."

George makes a noise of acknowledgement, too tired to do much else. He feels warm-safe-comfortable, and he really just wants to sleep. “Can I sleep like this?”

Harry nods and cuddles George a little closer. “It’ll go away before you wake up.”

“Just in case,” George asks hopefully, “Could I have kisses?”

“Yeah,” Louis murmurs, eyes already closed. “Come here.”

By the time George falls asleep, he feels back to himself, refreshed and content and ready to sleep, tucked into place between Harry and Louis and sporting brand-new bruises ready for another week’s carrying him through to Saturday.

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